A  MOUNTAIN  EUROPA 


A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA 


THE  LAST  STETSON 


The  scratch  of  the  point  on  the  hard  steeL 


A  MOUNTAIN  EUROPA 

A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA 

THE  LAST  STETSON 


BY 
JOHN  FOX,  JR. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

P.  C.  YOHN  AND  LOUIS  LOEB 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

A  MOUNTAIN  EUROPA 

Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 


A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA 

Copyright,  1900,  by  JOHN  FOX,  JR. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


A  MOUNTAIN  EUROPA 1 

A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA  ...      115 
THE  LAST  STETSON  .  233 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

1  The  scratch  of  the  point  on  the  hard  steel "  .  Frontispiece 

FACINO 
FACE 

;<  Why  don't  ye  shoot?'" 142 

"We  hain't  fightin' women!'" 196 

Pray  fer  yer  enemies,  Eli " 262 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 


TO 

JAMES   LANE   ALLEN 


I 

AS  Clayton  rose  to  his  feet  in  the  still  air, 
the  tree-tops  began  to  tremble  in  the  gap 
below  him,  and  a  rippling  ran  through  the  leaves 
up  the  mountain-side.  Drawing  off  his  hat  he 
stretched  out  his  arms  to  meet  it,  and  his  eyes 
closed  as  the  cool  wind  struck  his  throat  and 
face  and  lifted  the  hair  from  his  forehead. 
About  him  the  mountains  lay  like  a  tumultuous 
sea — the  Jellico  Spur,  stilled  gradually  on  every 
si'de  into  vague,  purple  shapes  against  the  broken 
rim  of  the  sky,  and  Pine  Mountain  and  the 
Cumberland  Range  racing  in  like  breakers  from 
the  north.  Under  him  lay  Jellico  Valley,  and 
just  visible  in  a  wooded  cove,  whence  Indian 
Creek  crept  into  sight,  was  a  mining-camp — a 
cluster  of  white  cabins — from  which  he  had 
climbed  that  afternoon.  At  that  distance  the 
wagon-road  narrowed  to  a  bridle-path,  and  the 
figure  moving  slowly  along  it  and  entering  the 
forest  at  the  base  of  the  mountain  was  shrunk 
to  a  toy.  For  a  moment  Clayton  stood  with 
his  face  to  the  west,  drinking  in  the  air;  then 
tightening  his  belt,  he  caught  the  pliant  body  of 

3 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

a  sapling  and  swung  loose  from  the  rock.  As 
the  tree  flew  back,  his  dog  sprang  after  him. 
The  descent  was  sharp.  At  times  he  was  forced 
to  cling  to  the  birch-tops  till  they  lay  flat  on  the 
mountain-side. 

Breathless,  he  reached  at  last  a  bowlder  from 
which  the  path  was  easy  to  the  valley  below,  and 
he  leaned  quivering  against  the  soft  rug  of  moss 
and  lichens  that  covered  it.  The  shadows  had 
crept  from  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  darkening 
the  valley,  and  lifting  up  the  mountain-side  be- 
neath him  a  long,  wavering  line  in  which  met 
the  cool,  deep  green  of  the  shade  and  the  shining 
bronze  where  the  sunlight  still  lay.  Lazily  fol- 
lowing this  line,  his  eye  caught  two  moving 
shadows  that  darted  jagged  shapes  into  the  sun- 
light and  as  quickly  withdrew  them.  As  the 
road  wound  up  toward  him,  two  figures  were 
soon  visible  through  the  undergrowth.  Pres- 
ently a  head  bonneted  in  blue  rose  above  the 
bushes,  and  Clayton's  half-shut  eyes  opened 
wide  and  were  fixed  with  a  look  of  amused  ex- 
pectancy where  a  turn  of  the  path  must  bring 
rider  and  beast  into  plain  sight.  Apparently 
some  mountain  girl,  wearied  by  the  climb  or  in 
a  spirit  of  fun,  had  mounted  her  cow  while  driv- 
ing it  home;  and  with  a  smile  at  the  thought 
of  the  confusion  he  would  cause  her,  Clayton 
stepped  around  the  bowlder  and  waited.  With 

4 


A    MOUNTAIN    ETJEOPA 

the  slow,  easy  swing  of  climbing  cattle,  the  beast 
brought  its  rider  into  view.  A  bag  of  meal  lay 
across  its  shoulders,  and  behind  this  the  girl — 
for  she  was  plainly  young — sat  sidewise,  with 
her  bare  feet  dangling  against  its  flank.  Her 
face  was  turned  toward  the  valley  below,  and 
her  loosened  bonnet  half  disclosed  a  head  of 
bright  yellow  hair. 

Catching  sight  of  Clayton,  the  beast  stopped 
and  lifted  its  head,  not  the  meek,  patient  face  he 
expected  to  see,  but  a  head  that  was  wrinkled 
and  vicious — the  head  of  a  bull.  Only  the  sud- 
den remembrance  of  a  dead  mountain  custom 
saved  him  from  utter  amazement.  He  had 
heard  that  when  beasts  of  burden  were  scarce, 
cows,  and  especially  bulls,  were  worked  in 
ploughs  and  ridden  by  the  mountaineers,  even  by 
the  women.  But  this  had  become  a  tradition, 
the  humor  of  which  greater  prosperity  and  con- 
tact with  a  new  civilization  had  taught  even  the 
mountain  people  to  appreciate.  The  necessities 
of  this  girl  were  evidently  as  great  as  her  fear 
of  ridicule  seemed  small.  When  the  brute 
stopped,  she  began  striking  him  in  the  flank  with 
her  bare  heel,  without  looking  around,  and  as 
he  paid  no  attention  to  such  painless  goading, 
she  turned  with  sudden  impatience  and  lifted  a 
switch  above  his  shoulders.  The  stick  was  ar- 
rested in  mid-air  when  she  saw  Clayton,  and 

5 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

then  dropped  harmlessly.  The  quick  fire  in  her 
eyes  died  suddenly  away,  and  for  a  moment  the 
two  looked  at  each  other  with  mutual  curiosity, 
but  only  for  a  moment.  There  was  something 
in  Clayton's  gaze  that  displeased  her.  Her 
face  clouded,  and  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  G'long,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  But  the 
bull  had  lowered  his  head,  and  was  standing 
with  feet  planted  apart  and  tail  waving  uneasily. 
The  girl  looked  up  in  alarm. 

"Watch  out  thar!  "  she  called  out,  sharply. 
"  Call  that  dog  off— quick!  " 

Clayton  turned,  but  his  dog  sprang  past 
him  and  began  to  bark.  The  bull,  a  lean, 
active,  vicious-looking  brute,  answered  with  a 
snort. 

"  Call  him  off,  I  tell  ye !  "  cried  the  girl,  an- 
grily, springing  to  the  ground.  "  Git  out  o'  the 
way.  Don't  you  see  he's  a-comin'  at  ye?" 

The  dog  leaped  nimbly  into  the  bushes,  and 
the  maddened  bull  was  carried  on  by  his  own 
impetus  toward  Clayton,  who,  with  a  quick 
spring,  landed  in  safety  in  a  gully  below  the 
road.  When  he  picked  himself  up  from  the 
uneven  ground  where  he  had  fallen,  the  beast 
had  disappeared  around  the  bowlder.  The 
bag  had  fallen,  and  had  broken  open,  and  some 
of  the  meal  was  spilled  on  the  ground.  The 
girl,  flushed  and  angry,  stood  above  it. 

6 


A    MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

"  Look  thar,  now,"  she  said.  "  See  whut 
you've  done.  Why'n't  ye  call  that  dog  off  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't,"  said  Clayton,  politely.  "  He 
wouldn't  come.  I'm  sorry,  very  sorry." 

"  Can't  ye  manage  yer  own  dog?  "  she  asked, 
half  contemptuously. 

"Not  always." 

"  Then  ye  oughter  leave  him  to  home, 
and  not  let  him  go  round  a-skeerin'  folks' 
beastes."  With  a  little  gesture  of  indignation 
she  stooped  and  began  scooping  up  the  meal  in 
her  hand. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Clayton.  The  girl 
looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  You  go  'way,"  she  said. 

But  Clayton  stayed,  watching  her  helplessly. 
He  wanted  to  carry  the  bag  for  her,  but  she 
swung  it  to  her  shoulder,  and  moved  away.  He 
followed  her  around  the  bowlder,  where  his  late 
enemy  was  browsing  peacefully  on  sassafras- 
bushes. 

'  You  stay  thar  now,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
keep  that  dog  back." 

"  Won't  you  let  me  help  you  get  up?"  he 
asked. 

Without  answering,  the  girl  sprang  lightly  to 
the  bull's  back.  Once  only  she  looked  around 
at  him.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and  a  puzzled  ex- 
pression came  into  her  face.  Then,  without  a 

7 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

word  or  a  nod,  she  rode  away.  Clayton  watched 
the  odd  pair  till  the  bushes  hid  them. 

"  Europa,  by  Jove!  "  he  exclaimed,  and  he 
sat  down  in  bewilderment. 

She  was  so  very  odd  a  creature,  so  different 
from  the  timid  mountain  women  who  shrank 
with  averted  faces  almost  into  the  bushes  when 
he  met  them.  She  had  looked  him  straight  in 
the  face  with  steady  eyes,  and  had  spoken  as 
though  her  sway  over  mountain  and  road  were 
undisputed  and  he  had  been  a  wretched  tres- 
passer. She  paid  no  attention  to  his  apologies, 
and  she  scorned  his  offers  of  assistance.  She 
seemed  no  more  angered  by  the  loss  of  the  meal 
than  by  his  incapacity  to  manage  his  dog, 
which  seemed  to  typify  to  her  his  general  worth- 
lessness.  He  had  been  bruised  by  his  fall,  and 
she  did  not  even  ask  if  he  were  hurt.  Indeed, 
she  seemed  not  to  care,  and  she  had  ridden  away 
from  him  as  though  he  were  worth  no  more  con- 
sideration than  the  stone  under  him. 

He  was  amused,  and  a  trifle  irritated.  How 
could  there  be  such  a  curious  growth  in  the 
mountains?  he  questioned,  as  he  rose  and  con- 
tinued the  descent.  There  was  an  unusual 
grace  about  her,  in  spite  of  her  masculine  air. 
Her  features  were  regular,  the  nose  straight  and 
delicate,  the  mouth  resolute,  the  brow  broad, 
and  the  eyes  intensely  blue,  perhaps  tender, 

8 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

when  not  flashing  with  anger,  and  altogether 
without  the  listless  expression  he  had  marked 
in  other  mountain  women,  and  which,  he  had 
noticed,  deadened  into  pathetic  hopelessness 
later  in  life.  Her  figure  was  erect,  and  her 
manner,  despite  its  roughness,  savored  of  some- 
thing high-born.  Where  could  she  have  got 
that  bearing?  She  belonged  to  a  race  whose  de- 
scent, he  had  heard,  was  unmixed  English;  upon 
whose  lips  lingered  words  and  forms  of  speech 
that  Shakespeare  had  heard  and  used.  Who 
could  tell  what  blood  ran  in  her  veins  ? 

Musing,  he  had  come  almost  unconsciously 
to  a  spur  of  the  mountains  under  which  lay  the 
little  mining-camp.  It  was  six  o'clock,  and  the 
miners,  grim  and  black,  each  with  a  pail  in  hand 
and  a  little  oil-lamp  in  his  cap,  were  going  down 
from  work.  A  shower  had  passed  over  the 
mountains  above  him,  and  the  last  sunlight,  com- 
ing through  a  gap  in  the  west,  struck  the  rising 
mist  and  turned  it  to  gold.  On  a  rock  which 
thrust  from  the  mountain  its  gray,  sombre  face, 
half  embraced  by  a  white  arm  of  the  mist,  Clay- 
ton saw  the  figure  of  a  woman.  He  waved  his 
hat,  but  the  figure  stood  motionless,  and  he 
turned  into  the  woods  toward  the  camp. 

It  was  the  girl ;  and  when  Clayton  disappeared 
she  too  turned  and  went  on  her  way.  She  had 
stopped  there  because  she  knew  he  must  pass  a 

9 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJEOPA 

point  where  she  might  see  him  again.  She  was 
little  less  indifferent  than  she  seemed;  her  motive 
was  little  more  than  curiosity.  She  had  never 
seen  that  manner  of  man  before.  Evidently  he 
was  a  "  furriner  "  from  the  "  settlemints."  No 
man  in  the  mountains  had  a  smooth,  round  face 
like  his,  or  wore  such  a  queer  hat,  such  a  soft, 
white  shirt,  and  no  "  galluses,"  or  carried  such 
a  shiny,  weak-looking  stick,  or  owned  a  dog 
that  he  couldn't  make  mind  him.  She  was  not 
wholly  contemptuous,  however.  She  had  felt 
vaguely  the  meaning  of  his  politeness  and  defer- 
ence. She  was  puzzled  and  pleased,  she  scarce- 
ly knew  why. 

"  He  was  mighty  accomodatin',"  she  thought. 
"  But  whut,"  she  asked  herself  as  she  rode 
slowly  homeward — "  whut  did  he  take  off  his  hat 
fer?" 


10 


II 

EGHTS  twinkled  from  every  cabin  as 
Clayton  passed  through  the  camp.  Out- 
side the  kitchen  doors,  miners,  bare  to  the  waist, 
were  bathing  their  blackened  faces  and  bodies, 
with  children,  tattered  and  unclean,  but  health- 
ful, playing  about  them;  within,  women  in 
loose  gowns,  with  sleeves  uprolled  and  with  dis- 
ordered hair,  moved  like  phantoms  through 
clouds  of  savory  smoke.  The  commissary  was 
brilliantly  lighted.  At  a  window  close  by  im- 
provident miners  were  drawing  the  wages  of 
the  day,  while  their  wives  waited  in  the  store 
with  baskets  unfilled.  In  front  of  the  commis- 
sary a  crowd  of  negroes  were  talking,  laugh- 
ing, singing,  and  playing  pranks  like  children. 
Here  two,  with  grinning  faces,  were  squared  off, 
not  to  spar,  but  to  knock  at  each  other's  tattered 
hat;  there  two  more,  with  legs  and  arms  indis- 
tinguishable, were  wrestling;  close  by  was  the 
sound  of  a  mouth-harp,  a  circle  of  interested 
spectators,  and,  within,  two  dancers  pitted 
against  each  other,  and  shuffling  with  a  zest  that 
labor  seemed  never  to  affect. 

ii 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

Immediately  after  supper  Clayton  went  to  his 
room,  lighted  his  lamp,  and  sat  down  to  a  map 
he  was  tracing.  His  room  was  next  the  ground, 
and  a  path  ran  near  the  open  window.  As  he 
worked,  every  passer-by  would  look  curiously 
within.  On  the  wall  above  his  head  a  pair  of 
fencing-foils  were  crossed  under  masks.  Be- 
low these  hung  two  pistols,  such  as  courteous 
Claude  Duval  used  for  side-arms.  Opposite 
were  two  old  rifles,  and  beneath  them  two  stone 
beer-mugs,  and  a  German  student's  pipe  ab- 
surdly long  and  richly  ornamented.  A  mantel 
close  by  was  filled  with  curiosities,  and  near  it 
hung  a  banjo  unstrung,  a  tennis-racket,  and  a 
blazer  of  startling  colors.  Plainly  they  were 
relics  of  German  student  life,  and  the  odd  con- 
trast they  made  with  the  rough  wall  and  ceiling 
suggested  a  sharp  change  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
young  worker  beneath.  Scarcely  six  months 
since  he  had  been  suddenly  summoned  home 
from  Germany.  The  reason  was  vague,  but 
having  read  of  recent  American  failures,  notably 
in  Wall  Street,  he  knew  what  had  happened. 
Reaching  New  York,  he  was  startled  by  the 
fear  that  his  mother  was  dead,  so  gloomy  was 
the  house,  so  subdued  his  sister's  greeting,  and 
so  worn  and  sad  his  father's  face.  The  trouble, 
however,  was  what  he  had  guessed,  and  he  had 
accepted  it  with  quiet  resignation.  The  finan- 

12 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

cial  wreck  seemed  complete;  but  one  resource, 
however,  was  left.  Just  after  the  war  Clayton's 
father  had  purchased  mineral  lands  in  the 
South,  and  it  was  with  the  idea  of  developing 
these  that  he  had  encouraged  the  marked  scien- 
tific tastes  of  his  son,  and  had  sent  him  to  a  Ger- 
man university.  In  view  of  his  own  disaster, 
and  the  fact  that  a  financial  tide  was  swelling 
southward,  his  forethought  seemed  an  inspira- 
tion. To  this  resource  Clayton  turned  eagerly; 
and  after  a  few  weeks  at  home,  which  were 
made  intolerable  by  straitened  circumstances, 
and  the  fancied  coldness  of  friend  and  acquaint- 
ance, he  was  hard  at  work  in  the  heart  of  the 
Kentucky  mountains. 

The  transition  from  the  careless  life  of  a  stu- 
dent was  swift  and  bitter;  it  was  like  beginning 
a  new  life  with  a  new  identity,  though  Clayton 
suffered  less  than  he  anticipated.  He  had  be- 
come interested  from  the  first.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  pretty  glen,  when  he  came,  but 
a  mountaineer's  cabin  and  a  few  gnarled  old 
apple-trees,  the  roots  of  which  checked  the 
musical  flow  of  a  little  stream.  Then  the 
air  was  filled  with  the  tense  ring  of  hammer 
and  saw,  the  mellow  echoes  of  axes,  and  the 
shouts  of  ox-drivers  from  the  forests,  indignant 
groans  from  the  mountains,  and  a  little  town 
sprang  up  before  his  eyes,  and  cars  of  shin- 

13 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

ing   coal   wound   slowly   about   the    mountain- 
side. 

Activity  like  this  stirred  his  blood.  Busy 
from  dawn  to  dark,  he  had  no  time  to  grow  mis- 
erable. His  work  was  hard,  to  be  sure,  but  it 
made  rest  and  sleep  a  luxury,  and  it  had  the  new 
zest  of  independence;  he  even  began  to  take  in 
it  no  little  pride  when  he  found  himself  an  es- 
sential part  of  the  quick  growth  going  on. 
When  leisure  came,  he  could  take  to  woods 
filled  with  unknown  birds,  new  forms  of  insect 
life,  and  strange  plants  and  flowers.  With 
every  day,  too,  he  was  more  deeply  stirred  by 
the  changing  beauty  of  the  mountains — hidden 
at  dawn  with  white  mists,  faintly  veiled  through 
the  day  with  an  atmosphere  that  made  him  think 
of  Italy,  and  enriched  by  sunsets  of  startling 
beauty.  But  strongest  of  all  was  the  interest 
he  found  in  the  odd  human  mixture  about  him — 
the  simple,  good-natured  darkies  who  slouched 
past  him,  magnificent  in  physique  and  pictur- 
esque with  rags;  occasional  foreigners  just  from 
Castle  Garden,  with  the  hope  of  the  New 
World  still  in  their  faces;  and  now  and  then  a 
gaunt  mountaineer  stalking  awkwardly  in  the 
rear  of  the  march  toward  civilization.  Grad- 
ually it  had  dawned  upon  him  that  this  last,  si- 
lent figure,  traced  through  Virginia,  was  closely 
linked  by  blood  and  speech  with  the  common 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

people  of  England,  and,  moulded  perhaps  by 
the  influences  of  feudalism,  was  still  strikingly 
unchanged ;  that  now  it  was  the  most  distinctively 
national  remnant  on  American  soil,  and  symbo- 
lized the  development  of  the  continent,  and  that 
with  it  must  go  the  last  suggestions  of  the 
pioneers,  with  their  hardy  physiques,  their 
speech,  their  manners  and  customs,  their  simple 
architecture  and  simple  mode  of  life.  It  was 
soon  plain  to  him,  too,  that  a  change  was  being 
wrought  at  last — the  change  of  destruction. 
The  older  mountaineers,  whose  bewildered  eyes 
watched  the  noisy  signs  of  an  unintelligible  civi- 
lization, were  passing  away.  Of  the  rest,  some, 
sullen  and  restless,  were  selling  their  home- 
steads and  following  the  spirit  of  their  fore- 
fathers into  a  new  wilderness;  others,  leaving 
their  small  farms  in  adjacent  valleys  to  go  to 
ruin,  were  gaping  idly  about  the  public  works, 
caught  up  only  too  easily  by  the  vicious  current 
of  the  incoming  tide.  In  a  century  the  moun- 
taineers must  be  swept  away,  and  their  ignorance 
of  the  tragic  forces  at  work  among  them  gave 
them  an  unconscious  pathos  that  touched  Clay- 
ton deeply. 

As  he  grew  to  know  them,  their  historical 
importance  yielded  to  a  genuine  interest  in  the 
people  themselves.  They  were  densely  igno- 
rant, to  be  sure;  but  they  were  natural,  simple, 

15 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

and  hospitable.  Their  sense  of  personal  worth 
was  high,  and  their  democracy — or  aristocracy, 
since  there  was  no  distinction  of  caste — absolute. 
For  generations,  son  had  lived  like  father  in 
an  isolation  hardly  credible.  No  influence  save 
such  as  shook  the  nation  ever  reached  them. 
The  Mexican  war,  slavery,  and  national  politics 
of  the  first  half-century  were  still  present  issues, 
and  each  old  man  would  give  his  rigid,  indi- 
vidual opinion  sometimes  with  surprising  humor 
and  force.  He  went  much  among  them,  and 
the  rugged  old  couples  whom  he  found  in  the 
cabin  porches — so  much  alike  at  first — quickly 
became  distinct  with  a  quaint  individuality. 
Among  young  or  old,  however,  he  had  found 
nothing  like  the  half-wild  young  creature  he  had 
met  on  the  mountain  that  day.  In  her  a  type 
had  crossed  his  path — had  driven  him  from  it, 
in  truth — that  seemed  unique  and  inexplicable. 
He  had  been  little  more  than  amused  at  first, 
but  a  keen  interest  had  been  growing  in  him  with 
every  thought  of  her.  There  was  an  indefinable 
charm  about  the  girl.  She  gave  a  new  and  sud- 
den zest  to  his  interest  in  mountain  life;  and 
while  he  worked,  the  incidents  of  the  encounter 
on  the  mountain  came  minutely  back  to  him  till 
he  saw  her  again  as  she  rode  away,  her  supple 
figure  swaying  with  every  movement  of  the 
beast,  and  dappled  with  quivering  circles  of  sun- 

16 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

light  from  the  bushes,  her  face  calm,  but  still 
flushed  with  color,  and  her  yellow  hair  shaking 
about  her  shoulders — not  lustreless  and  flaxen, 
as  hair  was  in  the  mountains,  he  remembered, 
but  catching  the  sunlight  like  gold. 

Almost  unconsciously  he  laid  aside  his  pencil 
and  leaned  from  his  window  to  lift  his  eyes  to 
the  dark  mountain  he  had  climbed  that  day. 
The  rude  melody  of  an  old-fashioned  hymn  was 
coming  up  the  glen,  and  he  recognized  the  thin, 
quavering  voice  of  an  old  mountaineer,  Uncle 
Tommy  Brooks,  as  he  was  familiarly  known, 
whose  cabin  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  camp,  a 
pathetic  contrast  to  the  smart  new  houses  that 
had  sprung  around  it.  The  old  man  had  lived 
in  the  glen  for  nearly  three-quarters  of  a  cen- 
tury, and  he,  if  any  one,  must  know  the  girl. 
With  the  thought,  Clayton  sprang  through  the 
window,  and  a  few  minutes  later  was  at  the 
cabin.  The  old  man  sat  whittling  in  the  porch, 
joining  in  the  song  with  which  his  wife  was 
crooning  a  child  to  sleep  within.  Clayton  easily 
identified  Europa,  as  he  had  christened  her;  the 
simple  mention  of  her  means  of  transport  was 
sufficient. 

"  Ridin'  a  bull,  was  she?  "  repeated  the  old 
man,  laughing.  "  Well,  that  was  Easter 
Hicks,  old  Bill  Hicks'  gal.  She's  a  sort  o'  con- 
nection o'  mine.  Me  and  Bill  married  cousins. 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

She's  a  cur'us  critter  as  ever  I  seed.  She  don* 
seem  to  take  atter  her  dad  nur  her  mammy 
nother,  though  Bill  allus  had  a  quar  streak  in  'im, 
and  was  the  wust  man  I  ever  seed  when  he  was 
disguised  by  licker.  Whar  does  she  live  ?  Oh, 
up  thar,  right  on  top  o'  Wolf  Mountain,  with 
her  mammy." 

"Alone?" 

"Yes;  fer  her  dad  ain't  thar.  No;  V  he 
ain't  dead.  I'll  tell  ye" — the  old  man  lowered 
his  tone — "  thar  used  to  be  a  big  lot  o'  moon- 
shinin'  done  in  these  parts,  'n'  a  raider  come 
hyeh  to  see  'bout  it.  Well,  one  mornin'  he 
was  found  layin'  in  the  road  with  a  bullet  through 
him.  Bill  was  s'picioned.  Now,  I  ain't  a-sayin' 
as  Bill  done  it,  but  when  a  whole  lot  more  rode 
up  thar  on  hosses  one  night,  they  didn't  find  Bill. 
They  hain't  found  him  yit,  fer  he's  out  in  the 
mountains  somewhar  a-hidin'." 

"  How  do  they  get  along  without  him?  " 
asked  Clayton. 

'  Why,  the  gal  does  the  work.  She  ploughs 
with  that  bull,  and  does  the  plantin'  herself. 
She  kin  chop  wood  like  a  man.  An'  as  fer 
shootin',  well,  when  huntin's  good  'n'  thar's 
shootin'-matches  round-about,  she  don't  have  to 
buy  much  meat." 

"  It's  a  wonder  some  young  fellow  hasn't  mar- 
ried her.  I  suppose,  though,  she's  too  young." 

18 


A    MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  Thar's  been  many 
a  lively  young  fellow  that's  tried  it,  but  she's 
hard  to  ketch  as  a  wildcat.  She  won't  have 
nothin'  to  do  with  other  folks,  V  she  nuver 
comes  down  hyeh  into  the  valley,  'cept  to  git  her 
corn  groun'  er  to  shoot  a  turkey.  Sherd  Raines 
goes  up  to  see  her,  and  folks  say  he  air  tryin'  to 
git  her  into  the  church.  But  the  gal  won't  go 
nigh  a  meetin'-house.  She  air  a  cur'us  critter," 
he  concluded  emphatically,  "  shy  as  a  deer  till 
she  air  stirred  up,  and  then  she  air  a  caution; 
mighty  gentle  sometimes,  and  ag'in  stubborn  as 
a  mule." 

A  shrill,  infantile  scream  came  from  within, 
and  the  old  man  paused  a  moment  to  listen. 

"  Ye  didn't  know  I  had  a  great-grandchild, 
did  ye?  That's  it  a-hollerin'.  Talk  about 
Easter  bein'  too  young  to  merry!  Why  hit's 
mother  air  two  year  younger'n  Easter.  Jes 
come  in  hyeh  a  minit."  The  old  mountaineer 
rose  and  led  the  way  into  the  cabin.  Clayton 
was  embarrassed  at  first.  On  one  bed  lay  a 
rather  comely  young  woman  with  a  child  by  her 
side;  on  a  chest  close  by  sat  another  with  her 
lover,  courting  in  the  most  open  and  primitive 
manner.  In  the  corner  an  old  grandam  dozed 
with  her  pipe,  her  withered  face  just  touched  by 
the  rim  of  the  firelight.  Near  a  rectangular 
hole  in  the  wall  which  served  the  purpose  of  a 

19 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

window,  stood  a  girl  whose  face,  silhouetted 
against  the  darkness,  had  in  it  a  curious  mixture 
of  childishness  and  maturity. 

"  Whar's  the  baby?  "  asked  Uncle  Tommy. 

Somebody  outside  was  admiring  it,  and  the 
young  girl  leaned  through  the  window  and  lifted 
the  infant  within. 

"  Thar's  a  baby  fer  ye !  "  exclaimed  the  old 
mountaineer,  proudly,  lifting  it  in  the  air  and 
turning  its  face  to  the  light.  But  the  child  was 
peevish  and  fretful,  and  he  handed  it  back 
gently.  Clayton  was  wondering  which  was  the 
mother,  when,  to  his  amazement,  almost  to  his 
confusion,  the  girl  lifted  the  child  calmly  to 
her  own  breast.  The  child  was  the  mother 
of  the  child.  She  was  barely  fifteen,  with  the 
face  of  a  girl  of  twelve,  and  her  motherly 
manner  had  struck  him  as  an  odd  contrast. 
He  felt  a  thrill  of  pity  for  the  young  mother 
as  he  called  to  mind  the  aged  young  wives 
he  had  seen  who  were  haggard  and  care-worn 
at  thirty,  and  who  still  managed  to  live  to  an 
old  age.  He  was  indefinably  glad  that  Easter 
had  escaped  such  a  fate.  When  he  left  the 
cabin,  the  old  man  called  after  him  from  the 
door: 

'  Thar's  goin'  to  be  a  shootin'-match  among 
the  boys  to-morrer,  V  I  jedge  that  Easter  '11  be 
on  hand.     She  al'ays  is." 
20 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Clayton.  "Well,  I'll 
look  out  for  it." 

The  old  mountaineer  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Ye  hain't  thinkin'  about  takin'  a  wife,  air 
ye?" 

"No,  no!" 

"  Well,  ef  ye  air,"  said  the  old  man,  slowly, 
"  I'm  a-thinkin'  yu'll  have  to  buck  up  ag'in 
Sherd  Raines,  fer  ef  I  hain't  like  a  goose 
a-pickin'  o'  grass  by  moonshine,  Sherd  air  atter 
the  gal  fer  hisself,  not  fer  the  Lord.  Yes,"  he 
continued,  after  a  short,  dry  laugh;  "  'n'  mebbe 
ye'll  hav  to  keep  an  eye  open  fer  old  Bill.  They 
say  that  he  air  mighty  low  down,  'n'  kind  o' 
sorry  'n'  skeery,  for  I  reckon  Sherd  Raines  hev 
told  him  he  hav  got  to  pay  the  penalty  fer  takin' 
a  human  life; 'but  I  wouldn't  sot  much  on  his 
bein'  sorry  ef  he  was  mad  at  me  and  had  licker 
in  him.  He  hates  furriners,  and  he  has  a  crazy 
idee  that  they  is  all  raiders  'n'  lookin'  fer  him." 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  bother  him,"  said  Clayton, 
turning  away  with  a  laugh.  "  Good-night!  " 
With  a  little  cackle  of  incredulity,  the  old  man 
closed  the  door.  The  camp  had  sunk  now  to 
perfect  quiet;  but  for  the  faint  notes  of  a  banjo 
far  up  the  glen,  not  a  sound  trembled  on  the 
night  air. 

The  rim  of  the  moon  was  just  visible  above 
the  mountain  on  which  Easter — what  a  pretty 
21 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

name  that  was! — had  flashed  upon  his  vision 
with  such  theatric  effect.  As  its  brilliant  light 
came  slowly  down  the  dark  mountain-side,  the 
mists  seemed  to  loosen  their  white  arms,  and  to 
creep  away  like  ghosts  mistaking  the  light  for 
dawn.  With  the  base  of  the  mountain  in  dense 
shadow,  its  crest,  uplifted  through  the  vapors, 
seemed  poised  in  the  air  at  a  startling  height. 
Yet  it  was  near  the  crest  that  he  had  met  her. 
Clayton  paused  a  moment,  when  he  reached  his 
door,  to  look  again.  Where  in  that  cloud-land 
could  she  live? 


Ill 

WHEN  the  great  bell  struck  the  hour  of 
the  next  noon,  mountaineers  with  long 
rifles  across  their  shoulders  were  moving 
through  the  camp.  The  glen  opened  into  a 
valley,  which,  blocked  on  the  east  by  Pine 
Mountain,  was  thus  shut  in  on  every  side  by 
wooded  heights.  Here  the  marksmen  gath- 
ered. All  were  mountaineers,  lank,  bearded, 
men,  coatless  for  the  most  part,  and  dressed  in 
brown  home-made  jeans,  slouched,  formless 
hats,  and  high,  coarse  boots.  Sun  and  wind  had 
tanned  their  faces  to  sympathy,  in  color,  with 
their  clothes,  which  had  the  dun  look  of  the  soil. 
They  seemed  peculiarly  a  race  of  the  soil,  to 
have  sprung  as  they  were  from  the  earth,  which 
had  left  indelible  stains  upon  them.  All  car- 
ried long  rifles,  old-fashioned  and  home-made, 
some  even  with  flint-locks.  It  was  Saturday, 
and  many  of  their  wives  had  come  with  them 
to  the  camp.  These  stood  near,  huddled  into  a 
listless  group,  with  their  faces  half  hidden  in 
check  bonnets  of  various  colors.  A  barbaric 
love  of  color  was  apparent  in  bonnet,  shawl, 

23 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

and  gown,  and  surprisingly  in  contrast  with  such 
crudeness  of  taste  was  a  face  when  fully  seen, 
so  modest  was  it.  The  features  were  always 
delicately  wrought,  and  softened  sometimes 
by  a  look  of  patient  suffering  almost  into  refine- 
ment. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  contestants  were  the 
people  of  the  camp,  a  few  miners  with  pipes 
lounging  on  the  ground,  and  women  and  girls, 
who  returned  the  furtive  glances  of  the  moun- 
tain women  with  stares  of  curiosity  and  low 
laughter. 

Clayton  had  been  delayed  by  his  work,  and 
the  match  was  already  going  on  when  he  reached 
the  grounds. 

'  You've  missed  mighty  fine  shootin',"  said 
Uncle  Tommy  Brooks,  who  was  squatted  on 
the  ground  near  the  group  of  marksmen. 
"  Sherd's  been  a-beatin'  ever'body.  I'm  afeard 
Easter  hain't  a-comin'.  The  match  is  'most  over 
now.  Ef  she'd  been  here,  I  don't  think  Sherd 
would  'a'  got  the  ch'ice  parts  o'  that  beef  so 
easy." 

"  Which  is  he?  "  asked  Clayton. 

'  That  tall  feller  thar  loadin'  his  gun." 

'  What  did  you  say  his  name  was?  " 

"  Sherd  Raines,  the  feller  that's  goin'  to  be 
our  circuit-rider." 

He  remembered  the  peculiar  name.  So  this 
24 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

was  Easter's  lover.  Clayton  looked  at  the 
young  mountaineer,  curiously  at  first,  and  then 
with  growing  interest.  His  quiet  air  of  author- 
ity among  his  fellows  was  like  a  birthright;  it 
seemed  assumed  and  accepted  unconsciously. 
His  face  was  smooth,  and  he  was  fuller  in  figure 
than  the  rest,  but  still  sinewy  and  lank,  though 
not  awkward ;  his  movements  were  too  quick  and 
decisive  for  that.  With  a  casual  glance  Clayton 
had  wondered  what  secret  influence  could  have 
turned  to  spiritual  things  a  man  so  merely  ani- 
mal-like in  face  and  physique;  but  when  the 
mountaineer  thrust  back  his  hat,  elemental 
strength  and  seriousness  were  apparent  in  the 
square  brow,  the  steady  eye,  the  poise  of  the 
head,  and  in  lines  around  the  strong  mouth  and 
chin  in  which  the  struggle  for  self-mastery  had 
been  traced. 

As  the  mountaineer  thrust  his  ramrod  back 
into  its  casing,  he  glanced  at  the  woods  behind 
Clayton,  and  said  something  to  his  companions. 
They,  too,  raised  their  eyes,  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  old  mountaineer  plucked  Clayton 
by  the  sleeve. 

"  Thar  conies  Easter  now." 

The  girl  had  just  emerged  from  the  edge  of 
the  forest,  and  with  a  rifle  on  one  shoulder  and 
a  bullet-pouch  and  powder-horn  swung  from  the 
other,  was  slowly  coming  down  the  path. 
25 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

14  Why,  how  air  ye,  Easter?"  cried  the  old 
man,  heartily.  "Coin'  to  shoot,  air  ye?  I 
'lowed  ye  wouldn't  miss  this.  Ye  air  mighty 
late,  though." 

"  Oh,  I  only  wanted  a  turkey,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Well,  I'm  a-comin'  up  to  eat  dinner  with 
ye  to-morrer,"  he  answered,  with  a  laugh,  "  fer 
I  know  ye'll  git  one.  Y'u're  on  hand  fer  most 
o'  the  matches  now.  Wild  turkeys  must  be 
a-gittin'  skeerce." 

The  girl  smiled,  showing  a  row  of  brilliant 
teeth  between  her  thin,  red  lips,  and,  without 
answering,  moved  toward  the  group  of  moun- 
tain women.  Clayton  had  raised  his  hand  to 
his  hat  when  the  old  man  addressed  her,  but  he 
dropped  it  quickly  to  his  side  in  no  little  embar- 
rassment when  the  girl  carelessly  glanced  over 
him  with  no  sign  of  recognition.  Her  rifle  was 
an  old  flint-lock  of  light  build,  but  nearly  six 
feet  in  length,  with  a  shade  of  rusty  tin  two  feet 
long  fastened  to  the  barrel  to  prevent  the  sun- 
light from  affecting  the  marksman's  aim.  She 
wore  a  man's  hat,  which,  with  unintentional  co- 
quetry, was  perched  on  one  side  of  her  head. 
Her  hair  was  short,  and  fell  as  it  pleased  about 
her  neck.  She  was  bare-footed,  and  apparently 
clad  in  a  single  garment,  a  blue  homespun  gown, 
gathered  loosely  at  her  uncorseted  waist,  and 
showing  the  outline  of  the  bust  and  every  move- 

26 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

ment  of  the  tall,  supple  form  beneath.  Her  ap- 
pearance had  quickened  the  interest  of  the  spec- 
tators, and  apparently  was  a  disturbing  influ- 
ence among  the  contestants,  who  were  gathered 
together,  evidently  in  dispute.  From  their 
glances  Clayton  saw  that  Easter  was  the  sub- 
ject of  it. 

"  I  guess  they  don't  want  her  to  shoot — them 
that  hain't  won  nothin',"  said  Uncle  Tommy. 

"  She  hev  come  in  late,"  Clayton  heard 
one  say,  "  'n'  she  oughtn'  to  shoot.  Thar  hain't 
no  chance  shootin'  ag'in  her  noways,  'n'  I'm  in 
favor  o'  barrin'  her  out." 

"Oh  no;  let  her  shoot" — the  voice  was 
Raines's.  "  Thar  hain't  nothin'  but  a  few  tur- 
keys left,  'n'  ye'd  better  bar  out  the  .gun  'stid  o' 
the  gal,  anyway,  fer  that  gun  kin  outshoot  any- 
thing in  the  mountains." 

The  girl  had  been  silently  watching  the  group 
as  if  puzzled;  and  when  Raines  spoke  her  face 
tightened  with  sudden  decision,  and  she  strode 
swiftly  toward  them  in  time  to  overhear  the 
young  mountaineer's  last  words. 

"So  hit's  the  gun,  is  hit,  Sherd  Raines?" 
The  crowd  turned,  and  Raines  shrank  a  little 
as  the  girl  faced  him  with  flashing  eyes.  "  So 
hit's  the  gun,  is  hit?  Hit  is  a  good  gun,  but  y> 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  take  all  the  credit  'w  <y 
from  me.  But  ef  you  air  so  sartain  hit's  Jie 
27 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

gun,"  she  continued,  "  I'll  shoot  yourn,  V  y'u 
kin  hev  mine  ef  I  don't  beat  ye  with  yer  own 
gun." 

"  Good  fer  you,  Easter !  "  shouted  the  old 
mountaineer. 

Raines  had  recovered  himself,  and  was  look- 
ing at  the  girl  seriously.  Several  of  his  com- 
panions urged  him  aloud  to  accept  the  challenge, 
but  he  paid  no  heed  to  them.  He  seemed  to  be 
debating  the  question  with  himself,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  he  said,  quietly: 

"  'N'  you  kin  hev  mine  ef  I  don't  beat 
you." 

This  was  all  he  said,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  girl's  face;  and  when,  with  a  defiant 
glance,  she  turned  toward  the  mountain  wom- 
en, he  followed  and  stopped  her. 

"  Easter,"  Clayton  heard  him  say,  in  a  low, 
slow  voice,  "  I  was  tryin'  to  git  ye  a  chance  to 
shoot,  fer  ye  hev  been  winnin'  so  much  that  it's 
hard  to  git  up  a  match  when  ye  air  in  it."  The 
hard  look  on  the  girl's  face  remained  un- 
changed, and  the  mountaineer  continued,  firmly : 

"  'N'  I  told  the  truth;  fer  ef  ye  pin  me  down, 
I  do  think  hit  is  the  gun." 

"  Jes  you  wait  'n'  see,"  answered  the  girl, 
shortly,  and  Raines,  after  a  questioning  look, 
rejoined  the  group. 

"  I  won't  take  the  gun  ef  I  win  it,"  he  said 
28 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJEOPA 

to  them;  "but  she  air  gittin'  too  set  up  an* 
proud,  V  I'm  goin'  to  do  my  best  to  take  her 
down  a  bit." 

There  was  nothing  boastful  or  malicious  in 
his  manner  or  speech,  and  nobody  doubted  that 
he  would  win,  for  there  were  few  marksmen  in 
the  mountains  his  equals,  and  he  would  have  the 
advantage  of  using  his  own  gun. 

"  Look  hyeh,"  said  a  long,  thin  mountaineer, 
coming  up  to  the  group,  "  thar  ain't  but  one  tur- 
key left,  'n'  I'd  like  to  know  what  we  air  goin' 
to  shoot  at  ef  Sherd  'n'  Easter  gits  a  crack  at 
him." 

In  the  interest  of  the  match  no  one  had 
thought  of  that,  and  a  moment  of  debate  fol- 
lowed, which  Clayton  ended  by  stepping  for- 
ward. 

"  I'll  furnish  a  turkey  for  the  rest  of  you," 
he  said. 

The  girl  turned  when  he  spoke  and  gave  him 
a  quick  glance,  but  averted  her  eyes  instantly. 

Clayton's  offer  was  accepted,  and  the  prelim- 
inary trial  to  decide  who  should  shoot  first  at 
the  turkey  was  begun.  Every  detail  was  watched 
with  increasing  interest.  A  piece  of  white  paper 
marked  with  two  concentric  circles  was  placed 
sixty  yards  away,  and  Raines  won  with  a  bullet 
in  the  inner  circle.  The  girl  had  missed  both, 
and  the  mountaineer  offered  her  two  more  shots 
29 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

to  accustom  herself  to  the  gun.  She  accepted, 
and  smiled  a  little  triumphantly  as  she  touched 
the  outer  circle  with  one  bullet  and  placed  the 
other  almost  in  the  centre.  It  was  plain  that  the 
two  were  evenly  matched,  and  several  shouts  of 
approval  came  from  the  crowd.  The  turkey 
was  hobbled  to  a  stake  at  the  same  distance, 
and  both  were  to  fire  at  its  head,  with  the 
privilege  of  shooting  at  fifty  yards  if  no  rest 
were  taken. 

Raines  shot  first  without  rest,  and,  as  he 
missed,  the  girl  followed  his  example.  The  tur- 
key dozed  on  in  the  sunlight,  undisturbed  by 
either.  The  mountaineer  was  vexed.  With  his 
powerful  face  set  determinedly,  he  lay  down 
flat  on  the  ground,  and,  resting  his  rifle  over  a 
small  log,  took  an  inordinately  long  and  careful 
aim.  The  rifle  cracked,  the  turkey  bobbed  its 
head  unhurt,  and  the  marksman  sprang  to  his 
feet  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  cha- 
grin. As  he  loaded  the  gun  and  gravely  handed 
it  to  the  girl,  the  excitement  grew  intense.  The 
crowd  pressed  close.  The  stolid  faces  of  the 
mountaineer  women,  thrust  from  their  bonnets, 
became  almost  eager  with  interest.  Raines, 
quiet  and  composed  as  he  was,  looked  anxious. 
All  eyes  followed  every  movement  of  the  girl 
as  she  coolly  stretched  her  long,  active  figure  on 
the  ground,  drew  her  dress  close  about  it,  and, 
30 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

throwing  her  yellow  hair  over  her  face  to  shade 
her  eyes  from  the  slanting  sunlight,  placed  her 
cheek  against  the  stock  of  the  gun.  A  long  sus- 
pense followed.  A  hush  almost  of  solemnity 
fell  upon  the  crowd. 

"  Why  don't  the  gal  shoot?  "  asked  a  voice, 
impatiently. 

Clayton  saw  what  the  matter  was,  and,  step- 
ping toward  her,  said  quietly,  "  You  forgot  to 
set  the  trigger." 

The  girl's  face  colored.  Again  her  eye 
glanced  along  the  barrel,  a  puff  of  smoke  flew 
from  the  gun,  and  a  shout  came  from  every  pair 
of  lips  as  the  turkey  leaped  into  the  air  and  fell, 
beating  the  ground  with  its  wings.  In  an  instant 
a  young  mountaineer  had  rushed  forward  and 
seized  it,  and,  after  a  glance,  dropped  it  with  a 
yell  of  triumph. 

"  Shot  plum'  through  the  eyes!  "  he  shouted. 
"  Shot  plum'  through  the  eyes!  " 

The  girl  arose,  and  handed  the  gun  back  to 
Raines. 

"  Keep  hit,"  he  said,  steadily.  "  Hit's 
yourn." 

"  I  don't  want  the  gun,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
did  want  that  turkey — 'n'  " — a  little  tauntingly 
— "  I  did  want  to  beat  you,  Sherd  Raines." 

The  mountaineer's  face  flushed  and  dark- 
ened, but  he  said  nothing.  He  took  no  part  in 
35 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

the  shooting  that  followed,  and  when,  after  the 
match  was  over,  the  girl,  with  her  rifle  on  one 
shoulder  and  the  turkey  over  the  other,  turned 
up  the  mountain  path,  Clayton  saw  him  follow 
her. 


IV 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  Clayton,  rifle  in 
hand,  took  the  same  path.  It  was  late 
in  May.  The  leafage  was  luxuriant,  and  the 
mountains,  wooded  to  the  tops,  seemed  over- 
spread with  great,  shaggy  rugs  of  green.  The 
woods  were  resonant  with  song-birds,  and  the 
dew  dripped  and  sparkled  wherever  a  shaft  of 
sunlight  pierced  the  thick  leaves.  Late  violets 
hid  shyly  under  canopies  of  May-apple;  bunches 
of  blue  and  of  white  anemone  nodded  from  un- 
der fallen  trees,  and  water  ran  like  hidden  music 
everywhere.  Slowly  the  valley  and  the  sound 
of  its  life — the  lowing  of  cattle,  the  clatter  at 
the  mines,  the  songs  of  the  negroes  at  work — 
sank  beneath  him.  The  chorus  of  birds  dwin- 
dled until  only  the  cool,  flute-like  notes  of  a 
wood-thrush  rose  faintly  from  below.  Up  he 
went,  winding  around  great  oaks,  fallen  trunks, 
loose  bowlders,  and  threatening  cliffs  until  light 
glimmered  whitely  between  the  boles  of  the 
trees.  From  a  gap  where  he  paused  to  rest,  a 
"  fire-scald  "  was  visible  close  to  the  crest  of  the 
adjoining  mountain.  It  was  filled  with  the 
33 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

charred,  ghost-like  trunks  of  trees  that  had  been 
burned  standing.  Easter's  home  must  be  near 
that,  Clayton  thought,  and  he  turned  toward 
it  by  a  path  that  ran  along  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain. After  a  few  hundred  yards  the  path 
swerved  sharply  through  a  dense  thicket,  and 
Clayton  stopped  in  wonder. 

Some  natural  agent  had  hollowed  the  moun- 
tain, leaving  a  level  plateau  of  several  acres. 
The  earth  had  fallen  away  from  a  great  sombre 
cliff  of  solid  rock,  and  clinging  like  a  swallow's 
nest  in  a  cleft  of  this  was  the  usual  rude  cabin  of 
a  mountaineer.  The  face  of  the  rock  was  dark 
with  vines,  and  the  cabin  was  protected  as  by  a 
fortress.  But  one  way  of  approach  was  possible, 
and  that  straight  to  the  porch.  From  the  cliff 
the  vines  had  crept  to  roof  and  chimney,  and 
were  waving  their  tendrils  about  a  thin  blue 
spiral  of  smoke.  The  cabin  was  gray  and  tot- 
tering with  age.  Above  the  porch  on  the 
branches  of  an  apple-tree  hung  leaves  that 
matched  in  richness  of  tint  the  thick  moss  on  the 
rough  shingles.  Under  it  an  old  woman  sat 
spinning,  and  a  hound  lay  asleep  at  her  feet. 
Easter  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  her  voice 
came  from  below  him  in  a  loud  tone  of  com- 
mand; and  presently  she  appeared  from  behind 
a  knoll,  above  which  the  thatched  roof  of  a  stable 
was  visible,  and  slowly  ascended  the  path  to  the 

34 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

house.  She  had  evidently  just  finished  work,  for 
a  plough  stood  in  the  last  furrow  of  the  field, 
and  the  fragrance  of  freshly  turned  earth  was 
in  the  air.  On  the  porch  she  sank  wearily  into 
a  low  chair,  and,  folding  her  hands,  looked  away 
to  the  mountains. 

Clayton  climbed  the  crumbling  fence.  A  dead 
twig  snapped,  and,  startled  by  the  sound,  the 
girl  began  to  rise;  but,  giving  him  one  quick, 
sharp  look,  dropped  her  eyes  to  her  hands,  and 
remained  motionless. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Clayton,  lifting  his 
hat.  The  girl  did  not  raise  her  face.  The  wheel 
stopped,  and  the  spinner  turned  her  head. 

"  How  air  ye?  "  she  said,  with  ready  hospi- 
tality. "  Come  in  an'  hev  a  cheer." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  answered,  a  little  em- 
barrassed by  Easter's  odd  behavior.  "  May  I 
get  some  water?  " 

"  Sartinly,"  said  the  old  woman,  looking  him 
over  curiously.  "  Easter,  go  git  some  fresh." 

The  girl  started  to  rise,  but  Clayton,  picking 
up  the  bucket,  said,  quickly: 

"  Oh  no ;  I  won't  trouble  you.  I  see  the 
spring,"  he  added,  noticing  a  tiny  stream  that 
trickled  from  a  fissure  at  the  base  of  the  cliff. 

"  Who  air  that  feller,  Easter?  "  the  mother 
asked,  in  a  low  voice,  when  Clayton  was  out  of 
hearing. 

35 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

"  One  o'  them  furriners  who  hev  come  into 
Injun  Creek,"  was  the  indifferent  reply. 

"  That's  splendid  water,"  said  Clayton,  re- 
turning. "  May  I  give  you  some?  "  The  old 
woman  shook  her  head.  Easter's  eyes  were  still 
on  the  mountains,  and  apparently  she  had  not 
heard  him. 

"  Hit  air  good  water,"  said  the  mother. 
"  That  spring  never  does  go  dry.  You  better 
come  in  and  rest  a  spell.  I  suppose  ye  air  from 
the  mines?  "  she  added,  as  she  turned  to  resume 
spinning. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Clayton.  "  There  is  good 
hunting  around  here,  isn't  there?  "  he  went  on, 
feeling  that  some  explanation  was  due  for  his 
sudden  arrival  away  up  in  that  lone  spot. 

There  was  no  answer.  Easter  did  not  look 
toward  him,  and  the  spinning  stopped. 

"  Whut  d'you  say?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

Clayton  repeated  his  question. 

4  Thar  used  to  be  prime  huntin'  in  these  parts 
when  my  dad  cleared  off  this  spot  more'n  fifty 
year  ago,  but  the  varmints  hev  mostly  been 
killed  out.  But  Easter  kin  tell  you  better'n  I 
kin,  for  she  does  all  our  huntin',  'n'  she  kin  out- 
shoot  'mos'  any  man  in  the  mountains." 

*  Yes ;  I  saw  her  shoot  at  the  match  the  other 
day  down  at  the  mines." 

"  Did  ye?  " — a  smile  of  pleasure  broke  over 
36 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

the  old  woman's  face — "  whar  she  beat  Sherd 
Raines?  Sherd  wanted  to  mortify  her,  but  she 
mortified  him,  I  reckon." 

The  girl  did  not  join  in  her  mother's  laugh, 
though  the  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched 
faintly. 

"  I  like  shooting,  myself,"  said  Clayton.  "  I 
would  go  into  a  match,  but  I'm  afraid  I  wouldn't 
have  much  chance." 

"  I  reckon  not,  with  that  short  thing?  "  said 
the  old  woman,  pointing  at  his  repeating-rifle. 
"  Would  ye  shoot  with  that?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Clayton,  smiling;  "it 
shoots  very  well." 

"Howfer?" 

"  Oh,  a  long  way." 

A  huge  shadow  swept  over  the  house,  thrown 
by  a  buzzard  sailing  with  magnificent  ease  high 
above  them.  Thinking  that  he  might  disturb 
its  flight,  Clayton  rose  and  cocked  his  rifle. 

"  Ye're  not  going  to  shoot  at  that?"  said 
the  old  woman,  grinning.  The  girl  had  looked 
toward  him  at  last,  with  a  smile  of  faint  deri- 
sion. 

Clayton  took  aim  quickly  and  fired.  The 
huge  bird  sank  as  though  hit,  curved  down- 
ward, and  with  one  flap  of  his  great  wings  sailed 
on. 

"Well,  ef  I  didn't  think  ye  had  hit  him!  " 
37 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUBOPA 

said  the  old  woman,  in  amazement.  '  You  kin 
shoot,  fer  a  fac'." 

Easter's  attention  was  gained  at  last.  For  the 
first  time  she  looked  straight  at  him,  and  her 
little  smile  of  derision  had  given  way  to  a  look 
of  mingled  curiosity  and  respect. 

"  I  expected  only  to  scare  him,"  said  Clayton. 
"  The  gun  will  carry  twice  that  far." 

"  Hit's  jest  as  well  ye  didn't  hit  him,"  said 
the  old  woman.  "  Hit  air  five  dollars  fine  to 
kill  a  buzzard  around  hyeh.  I'd  never  thought 
that  little  thing  could  shoot." 

"  It  shoots  several  times,"  said  Clayton. 

"Hit  does  whut?" 

"  Like  a  pistol,"  he  explained,  and,  rising,  he 
directed  several  shots  in  quick  succession  at  a 
dead  tree  in  the  ploughed  field.  At  each  shot  a 
puff  of  dust  came  almost  from  the  same  spot. 

When  he  turned,  Easter  had  risen  to  her  feet 
in  astonishment,  and  the  mother  was  laughing 
long  and  loudly. 

"  Don't  ye  wish  ye  had  a  gun  like  that,  Eas- 
ter? "  she  cried. 

Clayton  turned  quickly  to  the  girl,  and  began 
explaining  the  mechanism  of  the  gun  to  her, 
without  appearing  to  notice  her  embarrassment, 
for  she  shrank  perceptibly  when  he  spoke  to 
her. 

'  Won't  you  let  me  see  your  gun?  "  he  asked. 
38 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

She  brought  out  the  old  flint-lock,  and  handed 
it  to  him  almost  timidly. 

"  This  is  very  interesting,"  he  said.  "  I  never 
saw  one  like  it  before." 

"  Thar  hain't  but  one  more  jest  like  that  in 
the  mountains,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  'n'  Eas- 
ter's got  that.  My  dad  made  'em  both." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  trade  one  for  mine, 
if  you  have  two?"  said  Clayton  to  the  girl. 
"  I'll  give  you  all  my  cartridges  to  boot." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  mother  with  hesitation. 
Clayton  saw  that  both  wondered  what  he  could 
want  with  the  gun,  and  he  added: 

"  I'd  like  to  have  it  to  take  home  with  me. 
It  would  be  a  great  curiosity." 

"  Well,"  said  the  mother,  "  you  kin  hev  one 
ef  ye  want  hit,  and  think  the  trade's  fa'r." 

Clayton  insisted,  and  the  trade  was  made. 
The  old  woman  resumed  spinning.  The  girl 
took  her  seat  in  the  low  chair,  holding  her  new 
treasure  in  her  lap,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  it,  and 
occasionally  running  one  brown  hand  down  its 
shining  barrel.  Clayton  watched  her.  She  had 
given  no  sign  whatever  that  she  had  ever  seen 
him  before,  and  yet  a  curious  change  had  come 
over  her.  Her  imperious  manner  had  yielded  to 
a  singular  reserve  and  timidity.  The  peculiar 
beauty  of  the  girl  struck  him  now  with  unusual 
force.  Her  profile  was  remarkably  regular  and 
39 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

delicate;  her  mouth  small,  resolute,  and  sensi- 
tive; heavy,  dark  lashes  shaded  her  downcast 
eyes;  and  her  brow  suggested  a  mentality  that 
he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  test.  Her  feet  were 
small,  and  so  were  her  quick,  nervous  hands, 
which  were  still  finely  shaped,  in  spite  of  the 
hard  usage  that  had  left  them  brown  and  cal- 
lous. He  wondered  if  she  was  really  as  lovely 
as  she  seemed;  if  his  standard  might  not  have 
been  affected  by  his  long  stay  in  the  mountains ; 
if  her  picturesque  environment  might  not  have 
influenced  his  judgment.  He  tried  to  imagine 
her  daintily  slippered,  clad  in  white,  with  her 
loose  hair  gathered  in  a  Psyche  knot ;  or  in  even- 
ing dress,  with  arms  and  throat  bare;  but  the 
pictures  were  difficult  to  make.  He  liked  her 
best  as  she  was,  in  perfect  physical  sympathy 
with  the  natural  phases  about  her;  as  much  a 
part  of  them  as  tree,  plant,  or  flower,  embodying 
the  freedom,  grace,  and  beauty  of  nature  as  well 
and  as  unconsciously  as  they.  He  questioned 
whether  she  hardly  felt  herself  to  be  apart  from 
them;  and,  of  course,  she  as  little  knew  her  kin- 
ship to  them. 

She  had  lifted  her  eyes  now,  and  had  fixed 
them  with  tender  thoughtfulness  on  the  moun- 
tains. What  did  she  see  in  the  scene  before  her, 
he  wondered:  the  deep  valley,  brilliant  with 
early  sunshine ;  the  magnificent  sweep  of  wooded 
40 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

slopes;  Pine  Mountain  and  the  peak-like  Nar- 
rows, where  through  it  the  river  had  worn  its 
patient  way;  and  the  Cumberland  Range,  lying 
like  a  cloud  against  the  horizon,  and  bluer  and 
softer  than  the  sky  above  it.  He  longed 
to  know  what  her  thoughts  were;  if  in  them 
there  might  be  a  hint  of  what  he  hoped  to 
find.  Probably  she  could  not  tell  them,  should 
he  ask  her,  so  unconscious  was  she  of  her  men- 
tal life,  whatever  that  might  be.  Indeed,  she 
seemed  scarcely  to  know  of  her  own  existence; 
there  was  about  her  a  simplicity  to  which  he 
had  felt  himself  rise  only  in  the  presence  of  the 
spirit  about  some  lonely  mountain-top  or  in  the 
heart  of  deep  woods.  Her  gaze  was  not  vacant, 
not  listless,  but  the  pensive  look  of  a  sensitive 
child,  and  Clayton  let  himself  fancy  that  there 
was  in  it  an  unconscious  love  of  the  beauty  be- 
fore her,  and  of  its  spiritual  suggestiveness  a 
slumbering  sense,  perhaps  easily  awakened. 
Perhaps  he  might  awaken  it. 

The  drowsy  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel 
ceased  suddenly,  and  his  dream  was  shattered. 
He  wondered  how  long  they  had  sat  there  say- 
ing nothing,  and  how  long  the  silence  might  con- 
tinue. Easter,  he  believed,  would  never  address 
him.  Even  the  temporary  intimacy  that  the 
barter  of  the  gun  had  brought  about  was  gone. 
The  girl  seemed  lost  in  unconsciousness.  The 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

mother  had  gone  to  her  loom,  and  was  humming 
softly  to  herself  as  she  passed  the  shuttle  to  and 
fro.  Clayton  turned  for  an  instant  to  watch  her, 
and  the  rude  background,  which  he  had  forgot- 
ten, thrust  every  unwelcome  detail  upon  his  at- 
tention :  the  old  cabin,  built  of  hewn  logs,  held 
together  by  wooden  pin  and  augur-hole,  and 
shingled  with  rough  boards;  the  dark,  window- 
less  room;  the  unplastered  walls;  the  beds  with 
old-fashioned  high  posts,  mattresses  of  straw, 
and  cords  instead  of  slats ;  the  home-made  chairs 
with  straight  backs,  tipped  with  carved  knobs; 
the  mantel  filled  with  utensils  and  overhung  with 
bunches  of  drying  herbs;  a  ladder  with  half  a 
dozen  smooth-worn  steps  leading  to  the  loft; 
and  a  wide,  deep  fireplace — the  only  suggestion 
of  cheer  and  comfort  in  the  gloomy  interior. 
An  open  porch  connected  the  single  room  with 
the  kitchen.  Here,  too,  were  suggestions  of 
daily  duties.  The  mother's  face  told  a  tale  of 
hardship  and  toil,  and  there  was  the  plough  in 
the  furrow,  and  the  girl's  calloused  hands  folded 
in  her  lap.  With  a  thrill  of  compassion  Clayton 
turned  to  her.  What  a  pity !  what  a  pity !  Just 
now  her  face  had  the  peace  of  a  child's;  but 
when  aroused,  an  electric  fire  burned  from  her 
calm  eyes  and  showed  the  ardent  temperament 
that  really  lay  beneath.  If  she  were  quick  and 
sympathetic — and  she  must  be,  he  thought — 
42 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJBOPA 

who  could  tell  how  rich  the  development  pos- 
sible for  her? 

"  You  hain't  seen  much  of  this  country,  I 
reckon.  You  hain't  been  here  afore?  " 

The  mother  had  broken  the  silence  at  last. 

"No,"  said  Clayton;  "but  I  like  it  very 
much." 

"  Do  ye?  "  she  asked,  in  surprise.  "  Why,  I 
'lowed  you  folks  from  the  settlemints  thought 
hit  was  mighty  scraggy  down  hyeh." 

"  Oh  no.  These  mountains  and  woods  are 
beautiful,  and  I  never  saw  lovelier  beech-trees. 
The  coloring  of  their  trunks  is  so  exquisite,  and 
the  shade  is  so  fine,"  he  concluded,  lamely,  no- 
ticing a  blank  look  on  the  old  woman's  face.  To 
his  delight  the  girl,  half  turned  toward  him, 
was  listening  with  puzzled  interest. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  beeches  is 
beautiful  to  me  when  they  has  mast  enough  to 
feed  the  hogs." 

Carried  back  to  his  train  of  speculations, 
Clayton  started  at  this  abrupt  deliverance. 
There  was  a  suspicion  of  humor  in  the  old  wom- 
an's tone  that  showed  an  appreciation  of  their 
different  standpoints.  It  was  lost  on  Clayton, 
however,  for  his  attention  had  been  caught  by 
the  word  "  mast,"  which,  by  some  accident,  he 
had  never  heard  before. 

"  Mast,"  he  asked,  "  what  is  that?  " 
43 


A   MOITNTAIN   ETTROPA 

The  girl  looked  toward  him  in  amazement, 
and  burst  into  a  low,  suppressed  laugh.  Her 
mother  explained  the  word,  and  all  laughed 
heartily. 

Clayton  soon  saw  that  his  confession  of  ig- 
norance was  a  lucky  accident.  It  brought  Easter 
and  himself  nearer  common  ground.  She  felt 
that  there  was  something,  after  all,  that  sht 
could  teach  him.  She  had  been  overpowered  by 
his  politeness  and  deference  and  his  unusual  lan- 
guage, and,  not  knowing  what  they  meant,  was 
overcome  by  a  sense  of  her  inferiority.  The 
incident  gave  him  the  key  to  his  future  conduct. 
A  moment  later  she  looked  up  covertly,  and, 
meeting  his  eyes,  laughed  again.  The  ice  was 
broken.  He  began  to  wonder  if  she  really  had 
noticed  him  so  little  at  their  first  meeting  as  not 
to  recognize  him,  or  if  her  indifference  or  reserve 
had  prevented  her  from  showing  the  recogni- 
tion. He  pulled  out  his  note-book  and  began 
sketching  rapidly,  conscious  that  the  girl  was 
watching  him.  When  he  finished,  he  rose,  pick- 
ing up  the  old  flint-lock. 

'  Won't  ye  stay  and  hev  some  dinner?  "  asked 
the  old  woman. 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Come  ag'in,"  she  said,  cordially,  adding  the 
mountaineer's  farewell,  "  I  wrish  ye  well." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will.     Good-day." 
44 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUEOPA 

As  he  passed  the  girl  he  paused  a  moment  and 
dropped  the  paper  into  her  lap.  It  was  a  rude 
sketch  of  their  first  meeting,  the  bull  coming 
at  him  like  a  tornado.  The  color  came  to  her 
face,  and  when  Clayton  turned  the  corner  of 
the  house  he  heard  her  laughing. 

"  What  you  laughin'  at,  Easter?  "  asked  the 
mother,  stopping  her  work  and  looking  around. 

For  answer  the  girl  rose  and  walked  into  the 
house,  hiding  the  paper  in  her  bosom.  The  old 
woman  watched  her  narrowly. 

"  I  never  seed  ye  afeard  of  a  man  afore,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  No,  nur  so  tickled  'bout  one, 
nother.  Well,  he  air  as  accommodatin'  a  feller 
as  I  ever  see,  ef  he  air  a  furriner.  But  he  was 
a  fool  to  swop  his  gun  fer  hern." 


V 

THEREAFTER  Clayton  saw  the  girl 
whenever  possible.  If  she  came  to  the 
camp,  he  walked  up  the  mountain  with  her.  No 
idle  day  passed  that  he  did  not  visit  the  cabin, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  he  found  himself 
strangely  interested.  Her  beauty  and  fearless- 
ness had  drawn  him  at  first ;  her  indifference  and 
stolidity  had  piqued  him;  and  now  the  shyness 
that  displaced  these  was  inconsistent  and  puz- 
zling. This  he  set  himself  deliberately  at  work 
to  remove,  and  the  conscious  effort  gave  a  pe- 
culiar piquancy  to  their  intercourse.  He  had 
learned  the  secret  of  association  with  the  moun- 
taineers— to  be  as  little  unlike  them  as  possible 
— and  he  put  the  knowledge  into  practice.  He 
discarded  coat  and  waistcoat,  wore  a  slouched 
hat,  and  went  unshaven  for  weeks.  He  avoided 
all  conventionalities,  and  was  as  simple  in  man- 
ner and  speech  as  possible.  Often  when  talking 
with  Easter,  her  face  was  blankly  unresponsive, 
and  a  question  would  sometimes  leave  her  in 
confused  silence.  He  found  it  necessary  to  use 
the  simplest  Anglo-Saxon  words,  and  he  soon 
46 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

fell  Into  many  of  the  quaint  expressions  of  the 
mountaineers  and  their  odd,  slow  way  of  speech. 
This  course  was  effective,  and  in  time  the  shy- 
ness wore  away  and  left  between  them  a  com- 
radeship as  pleasant  as  unique.  Sometimes  they 
took  long  walks  together  on  the  mountains. 
This  was  contrary  to  mountain  etiquette,  but  they 
were  remote  even  from  the  rude  conventionali- 
ties of  the  life  below  them.  They  even  went 
hunting  together,  and  Easter  had  the  joy  of  a 
child  when  she  discovered  her  superiority  to 
Clayton  in  woodcraft  and  in  the  use  of  a  rifle. 
If  he  could  tell  her  the  names  of  plants  and 
flowers  they  found,  and  how  they  were  akin,  she 
could  show  him  where  they  grew.  If  he  could 
teach  her  a  little  more  about  animals  and  their 
habits  than  she  already  knew,  he  had  always  to 
follow  her  in  the  search  for  game.  Their  fel- 
lowship was,  in  consequence,  never  more  com- 
plete than  when  they  were  roaming  the  woods. 
In  them  Easter  was  at  home,  and  her  ardent 
nature  came  to  the  surface  like  a  poetic  glow 
from  her  buoyant  health  and  beauty.  Then  ap- 
peared all  that  was  wayward  and  elfin-like  in  her 
character,  and  she  would  be  as  playful,  wilful, 
evanescent  as  a  wood-spirit.  Sometimes,  when 
they  were  separated,  she  would  lead  him  into  a 
ravine  by  imitating  a  squirrel  or  a  wild-turkey, 
and,  as  he  crept  noiselessly  along  with  bated 

47 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

breath  and  eyes  peering  eagerly  through  the 
tree-tops  or  the  underbrush,  she  would  step  like 
a  dryad  from  behind  some  tree  at  his  side,  with 
a  ringing  laugh  at  his  discomfiture.  Again, 
she  might  startle  him  by  running  lightly  along 
the  fallen  trunk  of  a  tree  that  lay  across  a 
torrent,  or,  in  a  freak  of  wilfulness,  would 
let  herself  down  the  bare  face  of  some  steep 
cliff.  If  he  scolded  her,  she  laughed.  If  he 
grew  angry,  she  was  serious  instantly,  and  once 
she  fell  to  weeping  and  fled  home.  He  fol- 
lowed her,  but  she  barricaded  herself  in  her 
room  in  the  loft,  and  would  not  be  coaxed 
down.  The  next  day  she  had  forgotten  that  she 
was  angry. 

Her  mother  showed  no  surprise  at  any  of  her 
moods.  Easter  was  not  like  other  "  gals,"  she 
said;  she  had  always  been  "  quar,"  and  she  reck- 
oned would  "  al'ays  be  that  way."  She  objected 
in  no  wise  to  Clayton's  intimacy  with  her.  The 
"  furriner,"  she  told  Raines,  was  the  only  man 
who  had  ever  been  able  to  manage  her,  and  if 
she  wanted  Easter  to  do  anything  "  ag'in  her 
will,  she  went  to  him  fust  "  —a  simple  remark 
that  threw  the  mountaineer  into  deep  thought- 
fulness. 

Indeed,  this  sense  of  power  that  Clayton  felt 
over  the  wilful,  passionate  creature  thrilled  him 
with  more  pleasure  than  he  would  have  been 

48 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

willing  to  admit;  at  the  same  time  it  suggested 
to  him  a  certain  responsibility.  Why  not  make 
use  of  it,  and  a  good  use?  The  girl  was  perhaps 
deplorably  ignorant,  could  do  but  little  more 
than  read  and  write ;  but  she  was  susceptible  of 
development,  and  at  times  apparently  conscious 
of  the  need  of  it  and  desirous  for  it.  Once  he 
had  carried  her  a  handful  of  violets,  and  there- 
after an  old  pitcher  that  stood  on  a  shelf  blos- 
somed every  day  with  wild-flowers.  He  had 
transplanted  a  vine  from  the  woods  and  taught 
her  to  train  it  over  the  porch,  and  the  first  hint 
of  tenderness  he  found  in  her  nature  was  in  the 
care  of  that  plant.  He  had  taken  her  a  book 
full  of  pictures  and  fashion-plates,  and  he  had 
noticed  a  quick  and  ingenious  adoption  of  some 
of  its  hints  in  her  dress. 

One  afternoon,  as  he  lay  on  his  bed  in  a  dark- 
ened corner  of  his  room,  a  woman's  shadow 
passed  across  the  wall,  returned,  and  a  moment 
later  he  saw  Easter's  face  at  the  window.  He 
had  lain  quiet,  and  watched  her  while  her  won- 
dering eyes  roved  from  one  object  to  another, 
until  they  were  fastened  with  a  long,  intent  look 
on  a  picture  that  stood  upon  a  table  near  the 
window.  He  stirred,  and  her  face  melted  away 
instantly.  A  few  days  later  he  was  sitting  with 
Easter  and  Raines  at  the  cabin.  The  mother  was 
at  the  other  end  of  the  porch,  talking  to  a  neigh- 
49 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

bor  who  had  stopped  to  rest  on  his  way  across 
the  mountains. 

"  Easter  air  a-gettin'  high  notions,"  she  was 
saying,  "  V  she  air  a-spendin'  her  savin's,  V 
all  mine  she  kin  git  hold  of,  to  buy  fixin's 
at  the  commissary.  She  must  hev  white  crock- 
ery, V  towels,  'n'  newfangled  forks,  'n'  sich- 
like."  A  conscious  flush  came  into  the  girl's 
face,  and  she  rose  hastily  and  went  into  the 
house. 

"  I  was  afeard,"  continued  the  mother,  "  that 
she  would  hev  her  hair  cut  short,  'n'  be  a-flyin' 
with  ribbons,  'n'  spangled  out  like  a  rainbow, 
like  old  'Lige  Hicks's  gal,  ef  I  hadn't  heerd  the 
furriner  tell  her  it  was  '  beastly.'  Thar  ain't  no 
fear  now,  fer  what  that  furriner  don't  like, 
Easter  don't  nother." 

For  an  instant  the  mountaineer's  eyes  had 
flashed  on  Clayton,  but  when  the  latter,  a  trifle 
embarrassed,  looked  up,  Raines  apparently  had 
heard  nothing.  Easter  did  not  reappear  until 
the  mountaineer  was  gone. 

There  were  other  hopeful  signs.  Whenever 
Clayton  spoke  of  his  friends,  she  always  listened 
eagerly,  and  asked  innumerable  questions  about 
them.  If  his  attention  was  caught  by  any  queer 
custom  or  phrase  of  the  mountain  dialect,  she 
was  quick  to  ask  in  return  how  he  would  say 
the  same  thing,  and  what  the  custom  was  in  the 

50 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

"  settlemints."     She  even  made  feeble  attempts 
to  model  her  own  speech  after  his. 

In  a  conscious  glow  that  he  imagined  was 
philanthropy,  Clayton  began  his  task  of  eleva- 
tion. She  was  not  so  ignorant  as  he  had  sup- 
posed. Apparently  she  had  been  taught  by 
somebody,  but  when  asked  by  whom,  she  hesi- 
tated answering,  and  he  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  what  she  knew  she  had  puzzled  out  alone. 
He  was  astonished  by  her  quickness,  her  docil- 
ity, and  the  passionate  energy  with  which  she 
worked.  Her  instant  obedience  to  every  sug- 
gestion, her  trust  in  every  word  he  uttered,  made 
him  acutely  and  at  times  uncomfortably  con- 
scious of  his  responsibility.  At  the  same  time 
there  was  in  the  task  something  of  the  pleasure 
that  a  young  sculptor  feels  when,  for  the  first 
time,  the  clay  begins  to  yield  obedience  to  his 
fingers,  and  something  of  the  delight  that  must 
have  thrilled  Pygmalion  when  he  saw  his  statue 
tremulous  with  conscious  life. 


VI 

THE  possibility  of  lifting  the  girl  above 
her  own  people,  and  of  creating  a  spirit 
of  discontent  that  might  embitter  her  whole  life, 
had  occurred  to  Clayton;  but  at  such  moments 
the  figure  of  Raines  came  into  the  philanthropic 
picture  forming  slowly  in  his  mind,  and  his  con- 
science was  quieted.  He  could  see  them  to- 
gether; the  gradual  change  that  Easter  would 
bring  about  in  him,  the  influence  of  the  two  on 
their  fellows.  The  mining-camp  grew  into  a 
town  with  a  modest  church  on  the  outskirts,  and 
a  cottage  where  Raines  and  Easter  were  in- 
stalled. They  stood  between  the  old  civiliza- 
tion and  the  new,  understanding  both,  and  pro- 
tecting the  native  strength  of  the  one  from  the 
vices  of  the  other,  and  training  it  after  more 
breadth  and  refinement.  But  Raines  and  Easter 
did  not  lend  themselves  to  the  picture  so  readily, 
and  gradually  it  grew  vague  and  shadowy,  and 
the  figure  of  the  mountaineer  was  blurred. 

Clayton  did  not  bring  harmony  to  the  two. 
At  first  he  saw  nothing  of  the  mountaineer,  and 
when  they  met  at  the  cabin  Raines  remained 

52 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

only  a  short  time.  If  Easter  cared  for  him  at 
all,  she  did  not  show  it.  How  he  was  regarded 
by  the  mother,  Clayton  had  learned  long  ago, 
when,  in  answer  to  one  of  his  questions,  she  had 
said,  with  a  look  at  Easter,  that  "  Raines  was 
the  likeliest  young  feller  in  them  mountains  " ; 
that  "he  knew  morn'n  anybody  round  thar"; 
that  "  he  had  spent  a  year  in  the  settlemints, 
was  mighty  religious,  and  would  one  day  be  a 
circuit-rider.  Anyhow,"  she  concluded,  "  he 
was  a  mighty  good  friend  o'  theirn." 

But  as  for  Easter,  she  treated  him  with  un- 
varying indifference,  though  Clayton  noticed  she 
was  more  quiet  and  reserved  in  the  mountain- 
eer's presence;  and,  what  was  unintelligible  to 
him,  she  refused  to  speak  of  her  studies  when 
Raines  was  at  the  cabin,  and  warned  her  mother 
with  an  angry  frown  when  the  latter  began  tell- 
ing the  mountaineer  of  "  whut  a  change  had 
come  over  Easter,  and  how  she  reckoned  the  gal 
was  a-gittin'  eddicated  enough  fer  to  teach  any- 
body in  the  mountains,  she  was  a-larnin'  so 
much." 

After  that  little  incident,  he  met  Raines  at 
the  cabin  oftener.  The  mountaineer  was  always 
taciturn,  though  he  listened  closely  when  any- 
thing was  said,  and  even  when  addressed  by 
Easter's  mother  his  attention,  Clayton  noticed, 
was  fixed  on  Easter  and  himself.  He  felt  that 
53. 


A   MOUNTAIN"   EUKOPA 

he  was  being  watched,  and  it  irritated  him.  He 
had  tried  to  be  friendly  with  the  mountaineer, 
but  his  advances  were  received  with  a  reserve 
that  was  almost  suspicion.  As  time  went  on, 
the  mountaineer's  visits  increased  in  frequency 
and  in  length,  and  at  last  one  night  he  stayed  so 
long  that,  for  the  first  time,  Clayton  left  him 
there. 

Neither  spoke  after  the  young  engineer  was 
gone.  The  mountaineer  sat  looking  closely  at 
Easter,  who  was  listlessly  watching  the  moon 
as  it  rose  above  the  Cumberland  Range  and 
brought  into  view  the  wavering  outline  of  Pine 
Mountain  and  the  shadowed  valley  below.  It 
was  evident  from  his  face  and  his  eyes,  which 
glowed  with  the  suppressed  fire  of  some  power- 
ful emotion  within,  that  he  had  remained  for  a 
purpose ;  and  when  he  rose  and  said,  "  I  reckon 
I  better  be  a-goin',  Easter,"  his  voice  was  so  un- 
natural that  the  girl  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Hit  air  late,"  she  said,  after  a  slight  pause. 

His  face  flushed,  but  he  set  his  lips  and  caught 
the  back  of  his  chair,  as  though  to  steady  him- 
self. 

"  I  reckon,"  he  said,  with  slow  bitterness, 
"  that  hit  would  'a'  been  early  long  as  the  fur- 
riner  was  hyeh." 

The  girl  was  roused  instantly,  but  she  said 
nothing,  and  he  continued,  in  a  determined  tone : 
•  54 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

"  Easter,  thar's  a  good  deal  I've  wanted  to 
say  to  ye  fer  a  long  time,  but  I  hev  kept  a-puttin' 
hit  off  until  I'm  afeard  maybe  hit  air  too  late. 
But  I'm  a-goin'  to  say  hit  now,  and  I  want  ye 
to  listen."  He  cleared  his  throat  huskily.  "  Do 
ye  know,  Easter,  what  folks  in  the  mountains  is 
a-sayin'  ?  " 

The  girl's  quick  insight  told  her  what  was 
coming,  and  her  face  hardened. 

"  Have  ye  ever  knowed  me,  Sherd  Raines,  to 
keer  what  folks  in  the  mountains  say  ?  I  reckon 
ye  mean  as  how  they  air  a-talkin'  about  me?  " 

"  That's  what  I  mean,"  said  the  mountain- 
eer— "  you  'n'  him." 

"  Whut  air  they  a-sayin'?"  she  asked,  de- 
fiantly. Raines  watched  her  narrowly. 

"  They  air  a-sayin'  as  how  he  air  a-comin'  up 
here  mighty  often;  as  how  Easter  Hicks,  who 
hev  never  keered  fer  no  man,  air  in  love  with 
this  furriner  from  the  settlemints." 

The  girl  reddened,  in  spite  of  her  assumed 
indifference. 

"  They  say,  too,  as  how  he  air  not  in  love 
with  her,  'n'  that  somebody  oughter  warn  Easter 
that  he  air  not  a-meanin'  good  to  her.  You 
hev  been  seed  a-walkin'  in  the  mountains  to- 
gether." 

"  Who  seed  me?  "  she  asked,  with  quick  sus- 
picion.   The  mountaineer  hesitated. 
55 


"  I  hev,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

The  girl's  anger,  which  had  been  kindling 
against  her  gossiping  fellows,  blazed  out  against 
Raines. 

"  You've  been  watchin'  me,"  she  said,  an- 
grily. "  Who  give  ye  the  right  to  do  it?  What 
call  hev  ye  to  come  hyar  and  tell  me  whut  folks 
is  a-sayin'?  Is  it  any  o'  yo'  business?  I  want 
to  tell  ye,  Sherd  Raines" — her  utterance  grew 
thick — "  that  I  kin  take  keer  o'  myself;  that  I 
don't  keer  what  folks  say;  V  I  want  ye  to  keep 
away  from  me.  'N'  ef  I  sees  ye  a-hangin'  round 
V  a-spyin',  ye'll  be  sorry  fer  it."  Her  eyes 
blazed,  she  had  risen  and  drawn  herself  straight; 
and  her  hands  were  clinched. 

The  mountaineer  stood  motionless.  "  Thar's 
another  who's  seed  ye,"  he  said,  quietly — "  up 
thar,"  pointing  to  a  wooded  mountain,  the  top 
of  which  was  lost  in  mist.  The  girl's  attitude 
changed  instantly  into  vague  alarm,  and  her 
eyes  flashed  upon  Raines  as  though  they  would 
sear  their  way  into  the  meaning  hidden  in  his 
quiet  face.  Gradually  his  motive  seemed  to 
become  clear,  and  she  advanced  a  step  toward 
him. 

"  So  you've  found  out  whar  dad  is  a-hidin'?  " 

she   said,   her  voice   tremulous  with   rage   and 

scorn.      '  'N'  ye  air  mean  and  sorry  enough  to 

some  hyeh  'n'  tell  me  ye'll  give  him  up  to  the 

56 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

law  ef  I  don't  knuckle  down  'n'  do  what  ye  wants 
me?" 

She  paused  a  moment.  Was  her  suspicion 
correct?  Why  did  he  not  speak?  She  did  not 
really  believe  what  she  said.  Could  it  be  true? 
Her  nostrils  quivered;  she  tried  to  speak  again, 
but  her  voice  was  choked  with  passion.  With 
a  sudden  movement  she  snatched  her  rifle  from 
its  place,  and  the  steel  flashed  in  the  moonlight 
and  ceased  in  a  shining  line  straight  at  the  moun- 
taineer's breast. 

"  Look  hyeh,  Sherd  Raines,"  she  said,  in  low, 
unsteady  tones,  "  I  know  you  air  religious,  'n' 
I  know  as  how,  when  y'u  give  yer  word,  you'll 
do  what  you  say.  Now,  I  want  ye  to  hold  up 
yer  right  hand  and  sw'ar  that  you'll  never 
tell  a  livin'  soul  that  you  know  whar  dad  is 
a-hidin'." 

Raines  did  not  turn  his  face,  which  was  as 
emotionless  as  stone. 

"  Air  ve  goin*  to  sw'ar?  "  she  asked,  with 
fierce  impatience.  Without  looking  at  her,  he 
began  to  speak — very  slowly : 

"  Do  ye  think  I'm  fool  enough  to  try  to  gain 
yer  good-will  by  a-tellin'  on  yer  dad?  We  were 
on  the  mountains,  him  'n'  me,  we  seed  you  'n' 
the  furriner.  Yer  dad  thought  hit  was  a  spy, 
'n'  he  whipped  up  his  gun  'n'  would  'a'  shot  him 
dead  in  his  tracks  ef  I  hadn't  hindered  him. 
57 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

Does  that  look  like  I  wanted  to  hurt  the  fur- 
riner?  I  hev  knowed  yer  dad  was  up  in  the 
mountains  all  the  time,  V  I  hev  been  a-totin' 
things  fer  him  to  eat.  Does  that  look  like  I 
Wanted  to  hand  him  over  to  the  law?  " 

The  girl  had  let  the  rifle  fall.  Moving  away, 
she  stood  leaning  on  it  in  the  shadow,  looking 
down. 

"  You  want  to  know  what  call  I  hev  to  watch 
ye,  V  see  that  no  harm  comes  to  ye.  Yer  dad 
give  me  the  right.  You  know  how  he  hates  fur- 
riners,  V  whut  he  would  do  ef  he  happened 
to  run  across  this  furriner  atter  he  has  been 
drinkin'.  I'm  a-meddlin'  because  I  hev  told  him 
that  I  am  goin'  to  take  keer  o'  ye,  'n'  I  mean  to 
do  it — ef  ye  hates  me  fer  it.  I'm  a-watchin'  ye, 
Easter,"  he  continued,  "  'n'  I  want  ye  to  know 
it.  I  knowed  the  furriner  begun  comin'  here 
'cause  ye  air  not  like  gals  in  the  settlemints. 
Y'u  air  as  cur'us  to  him  as  one  o'  them  bugs  an' 
sich-like  that  he's  always  a-pickin'  up  in  the 
woods.  I  hevn't  said  nuthin'  to  yer  dad,  fer 
fear  o'  his  harmin'  the  furriner;  but  I  hev  seed 
that  ye  like  him,  an'  hit's  time  now  fer  me  to 
meddle.  Ef  he  was  in  love  with  ye,  do  ye  think 
he  would  marry  ye?  I  hev  been  in  the  settle- 
mints.  Folks  thar  air  not  as  we  citizens  air. 
They  air  bigoted  'n'  high-heeled,  'n'  they  look 
down  on  us.  I  tell  ye,  too — 'n'  hit  air  fer  yer 

58 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

own  good — he  air  in  love  with  somebody  in  the 
settlemints.  I  hev  heerd  it,  'n'  I  hev  seed  him 
a-lookin'  at  a  picter  in  his  room  ez  a  man  don't 
look  at  his  sister.  They  say  hit's  her. 

"  Thar's  one  thing  more,  Easter,"  he  con- 
cluded, as  he  stepped  from  the  porch.  "  He  is 
a-goin'  away.  I  heard  him  say  it  yestiddy. 
What  will  ye  do  when  he's  gone  ef  ye  lets  yer- 
self  git  to  thinkin'  so  much  of  him  now?  I've 
warned  ye  now,  Easter,  fer  yer  own  good, 
though  ye  mought  think  I'm  a-workin'  fer  my- 
self. But  I  know  I  hev  done  whut  I  ought. 
I've  warned  ye,  'n'  ye  kin  do  whut  ye  please,  but 
I'm  a-watchin'  ye." 

The  girl  said  nothing,  but  stood  rigid,  with 
eyes  wide  open  and  face  tense,  as  the  mountain- 
eer's steps  died  away.  She  was  bewildered  by 
the  confused  emotions  that  swayed  her.  Why 
had  she  not  indignantly  denied  that  she  was  in 
love  with  the  "furriner"?  Raines  had  not 
hinted  it  as  a  suspicion.  He  had  spoken  it  out- 
right as  a  fact,  and  he  must  have  thought  that 
her  silence  confirmed  it.  He  had  said  that  the 
"  furriner "  cared  nothing  for  her,  and  had 
dared  to  tell  her  that  she  was  in  love  with  him. 
Her  cheeks  began  to  burn.  She  would  call  him 
back  and  tell  him  that  she  cared  no  more  for  the 
"  furriner  "  than  she  did  for  him.  She  started 
from  the  steps,  but  paused,  straining  her  eyes 
59 


A   MOUNTAIN"   EUROPA 

through  the  darkness.  It  was  too  late,  and,  with 
a  helpless  little  cry,  she  began  pacing  the  porch. 
She  had  scarcely  heard  what  was  said  after  the 
mountaineer's  first  accusation,  so  completely  had 
that  enthralled  her  mind;  now  fragments  came 
back  to  her.  There  was  something  about  a  pic- 
ture— ah!  she  remembered  that  picture.  Pass- 
ing through  the  camp  one  afternoon,  she 
had  glanced  in  at  a  window  and  had  seen  a 
rifle  once  her  own.  Turning  in  rapid  wonder 
about  the  room,  her  eye  lighted  upon  a  picture 
on  a  table  near  the  window.  She  had  felt  the 
refined  beauty  of  the  girl,  and  it  had  impressed 
her  with  the  same  timidity  that  Clayton  had 
when  she  first  knew  him.  Fascinated,  she  had 
looked  till  a  movement  in  the  room  made  her 
shrink  away.  But  the  face  had  clung  in  her 
memory  ever  since,  and  now  it  came  before  her 
vividly.  Clayton  was  in  love  with  her.  Well, 
what  did  that  matter  to  her? 

There  was  more  that  Raines  said.  "  Coin' 
away."  Raines  meant  the  "  furriner,"  of  course. 
How  did  he  know?  Why  had  Clayton  not  told 
her?  She  did  not  believe  it.  But  why  not? 
He  had  once  told  her  that  he  would  go  away 
some  time;  why  not  now?  But  why — why  did 
not  Clayton  tell  her?  Perhaps  he  was  going  to 
her.  She  almost  stretched  out  her  hands  in  a 
sudden,  fierce  desire  to  clutch  the  round  throat 
60 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

and  sink  her  nails  into  the  soft  flesh  that  rose 
before  her  mind.  She  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  ever  told  her  that  he  must  go  away,  so  little 
had  it  impressed  her  at  the  time.  She  had  never 
thought  of  a  possible  change  in  their  relations 
or  in  their  lives.  She  tried  to  think  what  her 
life  would  be  after  he  was  gene,  and  she  was 
frightened;  she  could  not  imagine  her  old  life 
resumed.  When  Clayton  came,  it  was  as  though 
she  had  risen  from  sleep  in  a  dream,  and  had 
lived  in  it  thereafter  without  questioning  its 
reality.  Into  his  hands  she  had  delivered  her 
life  and  herself  with  the  undoubting  faith  of  a 
child.  She  had  never  thought  of  their  relations 
at  all.  Now  the  awakening  had  come.  The 
dream  was  shattered.  For  the  first  time  her  eye 
was  turned  inward,  where  a  flood  of  light 
brought  into  terrible  distinctness  the  tumult  that 
began  to  rage  so  suddenly  within. 

One  hope  only  flashed  into  her  brain — per- 
haps Raines  was  mistaken.  But  even  then,  if  he 
were,  Clayton  must  go  some  time;  he  had  told 
her  that.  On  this  fact  every  thought  became 
centred.  It  was  no  longer  how  he  came,  the 
richness  of  the  new  life  he  had  shown  her,  the 
barrenness  of  the  old,  Raines's  accusation,  the 
shame  of  it — the  shame  of  being  pointed  out  and 
laughed  at  after  Clayton's  departure ;  it  was  no 
longer  helpless  wonder  at  the  fierce  emotions 
61 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

racking  her  for  the  first  time :  her  whole  being 
was  absorbed  in  the  realization  which  slowly 
forced  itself  into  her  heart  and  brain — some  day 
he  must  go  away;  some  day  she  must  lose  him. 
She  lifted  her  hands  to  her  head  in  a  dazed,  in- 
effectual way.  The  moonlight  grew  faint  be- 
fore her  eyes;  mountain,  sky,  and  mist  were  in- 
distinguishably  blurred;  and  the  girl  sank  down 
upon  her  trembling  knees,  down  till  she  lay 
crouched  on  the  floor  with  her  tearless  face  in 
her  arms. 

The  moon  rose  high  above  her  and  sank  down 
the  west.  The  shadows  shortened  and  crept 
back  to  the  woods,  night  noises  grew  fainter, 
and  the  mists  floated  up  from  the  valley  and 
clung  around  the  mountain-tops;  but  she  stirred 
only  when  a  querulous  voice  came  from  within 
the  cabin. 

"  Easter,"  it  said,  "  ef  Sherd  Raines  air  gone, 
y'u  better  come  in  to  bed.  Y'u've  got  a  lot  o' 
work  to  do  to-morrer." 

The  voice  called  her  to  the  homely  duties  that 
had  once  filled  her  life  and  must  fill  it  again. 
It  was  a  summons  to  begin  anew  a  life  that  was 
dead,  and  the  girl  lifted  her  haggard  face  in 
answer  and  rose  wearily. 


62 


VII 

ON  the  following  Sunday  morning,  when 
Clayton  walked  up  to  the  cabin,  Easter 
and  her  mother  were  seated  in  the  porch.  He 
called  to  them  cheerily  as  he  climbed  over  the 
fence,  but  only  the  mother  answered.  Easter 
rose  as  he  approached,  and,  without  speaking, 
went  within  doors.  He  thought  she  must  be  ill, 
so  thin  and  drawn  was  her  face,  but  her  mother 
said,  carelessly: 

"  Oh,  hit's  only  one  o'  Easter's  spells. 
She's  been  sort  o'  puny  V  triflin'  o'  late,  but 
I  reckon  she'll  be  all  right  ag'in  in  a  day  or 
two." 

As  the  girl  did  not  appear  again,  Clayton 
concluded  that  she  was  lying  down,  and  went 
away  without  seeing  her.  Her  manner  had 
seemed  a  little  odd,  but,  attributing  that  to  ill- 
ness, he  thought  nothing  further  about  it.  To 
his  surprise,  the  incident  was  repeated,  and 
thereafter,  to  his  wonder,  the  girl  seemed  to 
avoid  him.  Their  intimacy  was  broken  sharply 
off.  When  Clayton  was  at  the  cabin,  either  she 
did  not  appear  or  else  kept  herself  busied  with 

63 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

household  duties.  Their  studies  ceased  abrupt- 
ly. Easter  had  thrown  her  books  into  a  corner, 
her  mother  said,  and  did  nothing  but  mope  all 
day;  and  though  she  insisted  that  it  was  only 
one  of  the  girl's  "  spells,"  it  was  plain  that 
something  was  wrong.  Easter's  face  remained 
thin  and  drawn,  and  acquired  gradually  a  hard, 
dogged,  almost  sullen  look.  She  spoke  to  Clay- 
ton rarely,  and  then  only  in  monosyllables.  She 
never  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  if  his  gaze 
rested  intently  on  her,  as  she  sat  with  eyes  down- 
cast and  hands  folded,  she  seemed  to  know  it  at 
once.  Her  face  would  color  faintly,  her  hands 
fold  and  unfold  nervously,  and  sometimes  she 
would  rise  and  go  within.  He  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  with  her  alone.  She  seemed 
to  guard  against  that,  and,  indeed,  Raines's 
presence  almost  prevented  it,  for  the  mountain- 
eer was  there  always,  and  always  now  the  last  to 
leave.  He  sat  usually  in  the  shadow  of  the  vine, 
and  though  his  face  was  unseen,  Clayton  could 
feel  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  an  intensity 
that  sometimes  made  him  nervous.  The  moun- 
taineer had  evidently  begun  to  misinterpret  his 
visits  to  the  cabin.  Clayton  was  regarded  as  a 
rival.  In  what  other  light,  indeed,  could  he  ap- 
pear to  Raines?  Friendly  calls  between  young 
people  of  opposite  sex  were  rare  in  the  moun- 
tains. When  a  young  man  visited  a  young 
64 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

woman,  his  intentions  were  supposed  to  be  seri- 
ous. Raines  was  plainly  jealous. 

But  Easter?  What  was  the  reason  for  her 
odd  behavior?  Could  she,  too,  have  miscon- 
strued his  intentions  as  Raines  had?  It  was  im- 
possible. But  even  if  she  had,  his  manner 
had  in  no  wise  changed.  Some  one  else  had 
aroused  her  suspicions,  and  if  any  one  it  must 
have  been  Raines.  It  was  not  the  mother,  he 
felt  sure. 

For  some  time  Clayton's  mother  and  sister 
had  been  urging  him  to  make  a  visit  home.  He 
had  asked  leave  of  absence,  but  it  was  a  busy 
time,  and  he  had  delayed  indefinitely.  In  a  fort- 
night, however,  the  stress  of  work  would  be 
over,  and  then  he  meant  to  leave.  During  that 
fortnight  he  was  strangely  troubled.  He  did 
not  leave  the  camp,  but  his  mind  was  busied  with 
thoughts  of  Easter — nothing  but  Easter.  Time 
and  again  he  had  reviewed  their  acquaintance 
minutely  from  the  beginning,  but  he  could  find 
no  cause  for  the  change  in  her.  When  his  work 
was  done,  he  found  himself  climbing  the  moun- 
tain once  more.  He  meant  to  solve  the  mystery 
if  possible.  He  would  tell  Easter  that  he  was 
going  home.  Surely  she  would  betray  some 
feeling  then. 

At  the  old  fence  which  he  had  climbed  so 
often  he  stopped,  as  was  his  custom,  to  rest  a 
65 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

moment,  with  his  eyes  on  the  wild  beauty  before 
him — the  great  valley,  with  mists  floating  from 
its  gloomy  depths  into  the  tremulous  moonlight ; 
far  through  the  radiant  space  the  still,  dark 
masses  of  the  Cumberland  lifted  in  majesty 
against  the  east;  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  great 
cliff  the  vague  outlines  of  the  old  cabin,  as  still 
as  the  awful  silence  around  it.  A  light  was 
visible,  but  he  could  hear  no  voices.  Still,  he 
knew  he  would  find  the  occupants  seated  in  the 
porch,  held  by  that  strange  quiet  which  nature 
imposes  on  those  who  dwell  much  alone  with 
her.  He  had  not  been  to  the  cabin  for  several 
weeks,  and  when  he  spoke  Easter  did  not  return 
his  greeting;  Raines  nodded  almost  surlily,  but 
from  the  mother  came,  as  always,  a  cordial  wel- 
come. 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  ye,"  she  said;  "  you 
haven't  been  up  fer  a  long  time." 

"  No,"  answered  Clayton;  "  I  have  been  very 
busy — getting  ready  to  go  home."  He  had 
watched  Easter  closely  as  he  spoke,  but  the  girl 
did  not  lift  her  face,  and  she  betrayed  no  emo- 
tion, not  even  surprise;  nor  did  Raines.  Only 
the  mother  showed  genuine  regret.  The  girl's 
apathy  filled  him  with  bitter  disappointment. 
She  had  relapsed  into  barbarism  again.  He  was 
a  fool  to  think  that  in  a  few  months  he  could 
counteract  influences  that  had  been  moulding 

66 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOP5 

her  character  for  a  century.  His  purpose  had 
been  unselfish.  Curiosity,  the  girl's  beauty,  his 
increasing  power  over  her,  had  stimulated  him, 
to  be  sure,  but  he  had  been  conscientious  and 
earnest.  Somehow  he  was  more  than  disap- 
pointed; he  was  hurt  deeply,  not  only  that  he 
should  have  been  so  misunderstood,  but  for  the 
lack  of  gratitude  in  the  girl.  He  was  bewil- 
dered. What  could  have  happened?  Could 
Raines  really  have  poisoned  her  mind  against 
him?  Would  Easter  so  easily  believe  what 
might  have  been  said  against  him  and  not  allow 
him  a  hearing? 

"  I've  been  expecting  to  take  a  trip  home  for 
several  weeks,"  he  found  himself  saying  a  mo- 
ment later;  "  I  think  I  shall  go  to-morrow." 

He  hardly  meant  what  he  said ;  a  momentary 
pique  had  forced  the  words  from  him,  but,  once 
spoken,  he  determined  to  abide  by  them.  Easter 
was  stirred  from  her  lethargy  at  last,  but  Clay- 
ton's attention  was  drawn  to  Raines's  start  of  v 
surprise,  and  he  did  not  see  the  girl's  face  agi- 
tated for  an  instant,  nor  her  hands  nervously 
trembling  in  her  lap. 

'  Ter-morrer !  "  cried  the  old  woman. 
"  Why,  ye  'most  take  my  breath  away.  I  de- 
clar',  I'm  downright  sorry  you're  goin',  I  hev 
tuk  sech  a  shine  to  ye.  I  kind  o'  think  I'll  miss 
ye  more'n  Easter." 

67 


A   MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

Raines's  eyes  turned  to  the  girl,  as  did  Clay- 
ton's. Not  a  suggestion  of  color  disturbed  the 
pallor  of  the  girl's  face,  once  more  composed, 
and  she  said  nothing. 

"  You're  so  jolly  'n'  lively,"  continued  the 
mother,  'n'  ye  allus  hev  so  much  to  say.  You 
air  not  like  Easter  'n'  Sherd  hyar,  who  talk 
'bout  as  much  as  two  stumps.  I  suppose  I'll 
hev  to  sit  up  'n'  talk  to  the  moon  when  you  air 
gone." 

The  mountaineer  rose  abruptly,  and,  though 
he  spoke  quietly,  he  could  hardly  control  him- 
self. 

"  Ez  my  company  seems  to  be  unwelcome  to 
ye,"  he  said,  "  I  kin  take  it  away  from  ye,  'n'  I 
will." 

Before  the  old  woman  could  recover  herself, 
he  was  gone. 

"  Well,"  she  ejaculated,  "  whut  kin  be  the 
matter  with  Sherd?  He  hev  got  mighty  cur'us 
hyar  of  late,  'n'  so  hev  Easter.  All  o'  ye  been 
a-settin'  up  hyar  ez  ef  you  was  at  a  buryin'. 
I'm  a-goin'  to  bed.  You  'n'  Easter  kin  set  up 
long  as  ye  please.  I  suppose  you  air  comin'  back 
ag'in  to  see  us,"  she  said,  turning  to  Clayton. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  I  may  not; 
but  I  sha'n't  forget  you." 

;'  Well,  I  wish  ye  good  luck."    Clayton  shook 
hands  with  her,  and  she  went  within  doors. 
68 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

The  girl  had  risen,  too,  with  her  mother,  and 
was  standing  in  the  shadow. 

"  Good-by  Easter,"  said  Clayton,  holding 
out  his  hand. 

As  she  turned  he  caught  one  glimpse  of  her 
face  in  the  moonlight,  and  its  whiteness  startled 
him.  Her  hand  was  cold  when  he  took  it,  and 
her  voice  was  scarcely  audible  as  she  faintly  re- 
peated his  words.  She  lifted  her  face  as  their 
hands  were  unclasped,  and  her  lips  quivered 
mutely  as  if  trying  to  speak,  but  he  had  turned 
to  go.  For  a  moment  she  watched  his  darken- 
ing figure,  and  then  with  stifled  breath  almost 
staggered  into  the  cabin. 

The  road  wound  around  the  cliff  and  back 
again,  and  as  Clayton  picked  his  way  along  it 
he  was  oppressed  by  a  strange  uneasiness.  Eas- 
ter's face,  as  he  last  saw  it,  lay  in  his  mind  like 
a  keen  reproach.  Could  he  have  been  mistaken  ? 
Had  he  been  too  hasty?  He  recalled  the  events 
of  the  evening.  He  began  to  see  that  it  was 
significant  that  Raines  had  shown  no  surprise 
when  he  spoke  of  going  home,  and  yet  had 
seemed  almost  startled  by  the  suddenness  of  his 
departure.  Perhaps  the  mountaineer  knew  he 
was  going.  It  was  known  at  the  camp.  If  he 
knew,  then  Easter  must  have  known.  Perhaps 
she  had  felt  hurt  because  he  had  not  spoken  to 
her  earlier.  What  might  Raines  not  have  told 
69 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

her,  and  honestly,  too?  Perhaps  he  was  uncon- 
sciously confirming  all  the  mountaineer  might 
have  said.  He  ought  to  have  spoken  to  her. 
Perhaps  she  could  not  speak  to  him.  He 
wheeled  suddenly  in  the  path  to  return  to  the 
cabin,  and  stopped  still. 

Something  was  hurrying  down  through  the 
undergrowth  of  the  cliffside  which  towered 
darkly  behind  him.  Nearer  and  nearer  the 
bushes  crackled  as  though  some  hunted  animal 
were  flying  for  life  through  them,  and  then 
through  the  laurel-hedge  burst  the  figure  of  a 
woman,  who  sank  to  the  ground  in  the  path  be- 
fore him.  The  flash  of  yellow  hair  and  a  white 
face  in  the  moonlight  told  him  who  it  was. 

"  Easter,  Easter!  "  he  exclaimed,  in  sickening 
fear.  "My  God!  is  that  you?  Why,  what 
is  the  matter,  child?  What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

He  stooped  above  the  sobbing  girl,  and  pulled 
away  her  hands  from  her  face,  tear-stained  and 
broken  with  pain.  The  limit  of  her  self-re- 
pression was  reached  at  last;  the  tense  nerves, 
strained  too  much,  had  broken ;  and  the  passion, 
so  long  checked,  surged  through  her  like  fire. 
Ah,  God!  what  had  he  done?  He  saw  the 
truth  at  last.  In  an  impulse  of  tenderness  he 
lifted  the  girl  to  her  feet  and  held  her,  sobbing 
uncontrollably,  in  his  arms,  with  her  head  against 

70 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

his  breast,  and  his  cheek  on  her  hair,  soothing 
her  as  though  she  had  been  a  child. 

Presently  she  felt  a  kiss  on  her  forehead. 
She  looked  up  with  a  sudden  fierce  joy  in  her 
eyes,  and  their  lips  met. 


CLAYTON  shunned  all  self-questioning 
after  that  night.  Stirred  to  the  depths 
by  that  embrace  on  the  mountain-side,  he  gave 
himself  wholly  up  to  the  love  or  infatuation — 
he  did  not  ask  which — that  enthralled  him. 
Whatever  it  was,  its  growth  had  been  subtle  and 
swift.  There  was  in  it  the  thrill  that  might 
come  from  taming  some  wild  creature  that  had 
never  known  control,  and  the  gentleness  that 
to  any  generous  spirit  such  power  would  bring. 
These,  with  the  magnetism  of  the  girl's  beauty 
and  personality,  and  the  influence  of  her  envir- 
onment, he  had  felt  for  a  long  time;  but  now 
richer  chords  were  set  vibrating  in  response  to 
her  great  love,  the  struggle  she  had  against  its 
disclosure,  the  appeal  for  tenderness  and  pro- 
tection in  her  final  defeat.  It  was  ideal,  he  told 
himself,  as  he  sank  into  the  delicious  dream; 
they  two  alone  with  nature,  above  all  human 
life,  with  its  restraints,  its  hardships,  its  evils, 
its  distress.  For  them  was  the  freedom  of  the 
open  sky  lifting  its  dome  above  the  mountains; 
for  them  nothing  less  kindly  than  the  sun  shining 

72 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJEOPA 

its  benediction ;  for  their  eyes  only  the  changing 
beauties  of  day  and  night;  for  their  ears  no  sound 
harsher  than  the  dripping  of  dew  or  a  bird-song; 
for  them  youth,  health,  beauty,  love.  And  it 
was  primeval  love,  the  love  of  the  first  woman 
for  the  first  man.  She  knew  no  convention,  no 
prudery,  no  doubt.  Her  life  was  impulse,  and 
her  impulse  was  love.  She  was  the  teacher 
now,  and  he  the  taught;  and  he  stood  in  won- 
der when  the  plant  he  had  tended  flowered  into 
such  beauty  in  a  single  night.  Ah,  the  happy, 
happy  days  that  followed!  The  veil  that  had 
for  a  long  time  been  unfolding  itself  between 
him  and  his  previous  life  seemed  to  have  almost 
fallen,  and  they  were  left  alone  to  their  happi- 
ness. The  mother  kept  her  own  counsel. 
Raines  had  disappeared  as  though  Death  had 
claimed  him.  And  the  dream  lasted  till  a  sum- 
mons home  broke  into  it  as  the  sudden  flaring 
up  of  a  candle  will  shatter  a  reverie  at  twilight. 


73 


IX 

THE  summons  was  from  his  father,  and 
was  emphatic;  and  Clayton  did  not  delay. 
The  girl  accepted  his  departure  with  a  pale  face, 
but  with  a  quiet  submission  that  touched  him. 
Of  Raines  he  had  seen  nothing  and  heard  noth- 
ing since  the  night  he  had  left  the  cabin  in  anger; 
but  as  he  came  down  the  mountain  after  bidding 
Easter  good-by,  he  was  startled  by  the  moun- 
taineer stepping  from  the  bushes  into  the  path. 

"  Ye  air  a-goin'  home,  I  hear,"  he  said, 
quietly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Clayton;."  at  midnight." 

"  Well,  I'll  walk  down  with  ye  a  piece,  ef  ye 
don't  mind.  Hit's  not  out  o'  my  way." 

As  he  spoke  his  face  was  turned  suddenly  to 
the  moonlight.  The  lines  in  it  had  sunk  deeper, 
giving  it  almost  an  aged  look;  the  eyes  were 
hollow  as  from  physical  suffering  or  from  fast- 
ing. He  preceded  Clayton  down  the  path,  with 
head  bent,  and  saying  nothing  till  they  reached 
the  spur  of  the  mountain.  Then  in  the  same 
voice : 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  ye  awhile,  V  I'd  like  to 
74 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

hev  ye  step  inter  my  house.     I  don't  mean  ye 
no  harm,"  he  added,  quickly,  "  V  hit  ain't  fer." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Clayton. 

The  mountaineer  turned  into  the  woods  by  a 
narrow  path,  and  soon  the  outlines  of  a  miser- 
able little  hut  were  visible  through  the  dark 
woods.  Raines  thrust  the  door  open.  The 
single  room  was  dark  except  for  a  few  dull 
coals  in  a  gloomy  cavern  which  formed  the  fire- 
place. ^ 

"  Sit  down,  ef  ye  kin  find  a  cheer,"  said 
Raines,  "  V  I'll  fix  up  the  fire." 

"Do  you  live  here  alone?"  asked  Clayton. 
He  could  hear  the  keen,  smooth  sound  of  the 
mountaineer's  knife  going  through  wood. 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "  fer  five  year." 

The  coals  brightened;  tiny  flames  shot  from 
them;  in  a  moment  the  blaze  caught  the  dry 
fagots,  and  shadows  danced  over  the  floor,  wall, 
and  ceiling,  and  vanished,  as  the  mountaineer 
rose  from  his  knees.  The  room  was  as  bare  as 
the  cell  of  a  monk.  A  rough  bed  stood  in  one 
corner;  a  few  utensils  hung  near  the  fireplace, 
wherein  were  remnants  of  potatoes  roasting  in 
the  ashes,  and  close  to  the  wooden  shutter  which 
served  as  a  window  was  a  board  table.  On  it 
lay  a  large  book — a  Bible — a  pen,  a  bottle  of 
ink,  and  a  piece  of  paper  on  which  were  letters 
traced  with  great  care  and  difficulty.  The 

75 


mountaineer  did  not  sit  down,  but  began  pacing 
the  floor  behind  Clayton.  Clayton  moved  his 
chair,  and  Raines  seemed  unconscious  of  his 
presence  as  with  eyes  on  the  floor  he  traversed 
the  narrow  width  of  the  cabin. 

"  Y'u  hevn't  seed  me  up  on  the  mount'in 
lately,  hev  ye?"  he  asked.  "I  reckon  ye 
haven't  missed  me  much.  Do  ye  know  whut 
I've  been  doin'  ? "  he  said,  with  sudden 
vehemence,  stopping  still  and  resting  his  eyes, 
which  glowed  like  an  animal's  from  the  dark- 
ened end  of  the  cabin,  on  Clayton. 

"  I've  been  tryin'  to  keep  from  killin'  ye. 
Oh,  don't  move — don't  fear  now;  ye  air  as  safe 
as  ef  ye  were  down  in  the  camp.  I  seed  ye 
that  night  on  the  mount'in,"  he  continued,  pac- 
ing rapidly  back  and  forth.  "  I  was  waitin'  fer 
ye.  I  meant  to  tell  ye  jest  whut  I'm  goin'  to 
tell  ye  ter-night ;  'n'  when  Easter  come  a-tearin' 
through  the  bushes,  'n'  I  seed  ye — ye — a-standin' 
together  " — the  words  seemed  to  stop  in  his 
throat — "  I  knowed  I  was  too  late. 

"  I  sot  thar  fer  a  minute  like  a  rock,  'n'  when 
ye  two  went  back  up  the  mount'in,  before  I 
knowed  it  I  was  hyer  in  the  house  thar  at  the 
fire  mouldin'  a  bullet  to  kill  ye  with  as  ye  come 
back.  All  at  oncet  I  heerd  a  voice  plain  as  my 
own  is  at  this  minute : 

"  'Air  you  a-thinkin'  'bout  takin'  the  life  of 
76 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

a  fellow-creatur,  Sherd  Raines — you  that  air 
tryin'  to  be  a  servant  o'  the  Lord?  ' 

"  But  I  kept  on  a-mouldin',  'n'  suddenly  I 
seed  ye  a-layin'  in  the  road  dead,  'n'  the  heavens 
opened  'n'  the  face  o'  the  Lord  was  thar,  'n'  he 
raised  his  hand  to  smite  me  with  the  brand  o' 
Cain— 'n'  look  thar!  " 

Clayton  had  sat  spellbound  by  the  terrible 
earnestness  of  the  man,  and  as  the  mountaineer 
swept  his  dark  hair  back  with  one  hand,  he  rose 
in  sudden  horror.  Across  the  mountaineer's 
forehead  ran  a  crimson  scar  yet  unhealed. 
Could  he  have  inflicted  upon  himself  this  fearful 
penance  ? 

"  Oh,  it  was  only  the  moulds.  I  seed  it  all 
so  plain  that  I  throwed  up  my  hands,  fergittin' 
the  moulds,  'n'  the  hot  lead  struck  me  thar;  but," 
he  continued,  solemnly,  "  I  knowed  the  Lord 
hed  tuk  that  way  o'  punishin'  me  fer  the  sin.o' 
havin'  murder  in  my  mind,  'n'  I  fell  on  my 
knees  right  thar  a-prayin'  fer  fergiveness:  'n' 
since  that  night  I  hev  stayed  away  from  ye  till 
the  Lord  give  me  power  to  stand  ag'in  the  temp- 
tation o'  harmin'  ye.  He  hev  showed  me  an- 
other way,  'n'  now  I  hev  come  to  ye  as  he  hev 
toP  me.  I  hevn't  toP  ye  this  fer  nothin'.  Y'u 
kin  see  now  whut  I  think  o'  Easter,  ef  I  was 
tempted  to  take  the  life  o'  the  man  who  tuk  her 
from  me,  'n'  I  reckon  ye  will  say  I've  got  the 
77 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

right  to  ax  ye  whut  I'm  a-goin'  to.  I  hev 
knowed  the  gal  sence  she  was  a  baby.  We  was 
children  together,  and  thar  hain't  no  use  hidin' 
that  I  never  keered  a  straw  fer  anuther  woman. 
She  used  to  be  mighty  wilful  V  contrary,  but 
as  soon  as  you  come  I  seed  at  oncet  that  a  change 
was  comin'  over  her.  I  mistrusted  ye,  'n'  I 
warned  her  ag'in'  ye.  But  when  I  1'arned  that 
ye  was  a-teachin'  her,  and  a-doin'  whut  I  had 
tried  my  best  to  do  'n'  failed,  I  let  things  run 
along,  thinkin'  that  mebbe  ever'thing  would 
come  out  right,  after  all.  Mebbe  hit  air  all 
right,  but  I  come  to  ye  now,  'n'  I  ax  ye  in  the 
name  of  the  livin'  God,  who  is  a-watchin'  you  'n' 
a-guidin'  me,  air  ye  goin'  to  leave  the  po'  gal 
to  die  sorrowin'  fer  ye,  or  do  ye  aim  to  come 
back  'n'  marry  her?  " 

Raines  had  stopped  now  in  the  centre  of  the 
cabin,  and  the  shadows  flickering  slowly  over 
him  gave  an  unearthly  aspect  to  his  tall,  gaunt 
figure,  as  he  stood  with  uplifted  arm,  pale  face, 
glowing  eyes,  and  disordered  hair. 

"  The  gal  hasn't  got  no  protecter — her  dad, 
as  you  know,  is  a-hidin'  from  jestice  in  the 
mount'ins — and  I'm  a-standin'  in  his  place,  'n' 
I  ax  ye  to  do  only  whut  you  know  ye  ought." 

There  was  nothing  threatening  in  the  moun- 
taineer's attitude,  nor  dictatorial;  and  Clayton 
felt  his  right  to  say  what  he  had,  in  spite  of  a 
78 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

natural  impulse  to  resent  such  interference. 
Besides,  there  sprang  up  in  his  heart  a  sudden 
great  admiration  for  this  rough,  uncouth  fellow 
who  was  capable  of  such  unselfishness;  who, 
true  to  the  trust  of  her  father  and  his  God,  was 
putting  aside  the  strongest  passion  of  his  life 
for  what  he  believed  was  the  happiness  of  the 
woman  who  had  inspired  it.  He  saw,  too,  that 
the  sacrifice  was  made  with  perfect  unconscious- 
ness that  it  was  unusual  or  admirable.  He  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  the  two  men  faced  each  other. 

"  If  you  had  told  me  this  long  ago,"  said 
Clayton,  "  I  should  have  gone  away,  but  you 
seemed  distrustful  and  suspicious.  I  did  not  ex- 
pect the  present  state  of  affairs  to  come  about, 
but  since  it  has,  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  have 
never  thought  of  doing  anything  else  than  what 
you  have  asked." 

And  he  told  the  truth,  for  he  had  already 
asked  himself  that  question.  Why  should  he 
not  marry  her?  He  must  in  all  probability 
stay  in  the  mountains  for  years,  and  after  that 
time  he  would  not  be  ashamed  to  take  her  home, 
so  strong  was  his  belief  in  her  quickness  and 
adaptability. 

Raines  seemed  scarcely  to  believe  what  he 
heard.  He  had  not  expected  such  ready  ac- 
quiescence. He  had  almost  begun  to  fear  from 
Clayton's  silence  that  he  was  going  to  refuse, 

79 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJBOPA 

and  then — God  knows  what  he  would  have 
done. 

Instantly  he  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  I  hev  done  ye  great  wrong,  'n'  I  ax  yer  par- 
din,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  I  want  to  say  that  I 
bear  ye  no  gredge,  'n'  thet  I  wish  ye  well.  I 
hope  ye  won't  think  hard  on  me,"  he  continued; 
"  I  hev  had  a  hard  fight  with  the  devil  as  long 
as  I  can  ricolect.  I  hev  turned  back  time  'n* 
ag'in,  but  thar  hain't  nothin'  ter  keep  me  from 
goin'  straight  ahead  now." 

As  Clayton  left  the  cabin,  the  mountaineer 
stopped  him  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold. 

"  Thar's  another  thing  I  reckon  I  ought  to 
tell  ye,"  he  said;  "  Easter's  dad  air  powerfully 
sot  ag'in  ye.  He  thought  ye  was  an  officer  at 
fust,  'n'  hit  was  hard  to  git  him  out  o'  the  idee 
thet  ye  was  spyin'  f er  him ;  'n'  when  he  seed  ye 
goin'  to  the  house,  he  got  it  inter  his  head  that 
ye  mought  be  meanin'  harm  to  Easter,  who  air 
the  only  thing  alive  thet  he  keers  fer  much.  He 
promised  not  to  tech  ye,  'n'  I  knowed  he  would 
keep  his  word  as  long  as  he  was  sober.  It'll 
be  all  right  now,  I  reckon,"  he  concluded,  "  when 
I  tell  him  whut  ye  aims  to  do,  though  he  hev  got 
a  spite  ag'in  all  furriners.  Far'well!  I  wish 
ye  well;  I  wish  ye  well." 

An  hour  later  Clayton  was  in  Jellico.  It  was 
midnight  when  the  train  came  in,  and  he  went 

80 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

immediately  to  his  berth.  Striking  the  curtain 
accidentally,  he  loosed  it  from  its  fastenings,  and, 
doubling  the  pillows,  he  lay  looking  out  on  the 
swiftly  passing  landscape.  The  moon  was  full 
and  brilliant,  and  there  was  a  strange,  keen 
pleasure  in  being  whirled  in  such  comfort 
through  the  night.  The  mists  almost  hid  the 
mountains.  They  seemed  very,  very  far  away. 
A  red  star  trembled  in  the  crest  of  Wolf  Moun- 
tain. Easter's  cabin  must  be  almost  under  that 
star.  He  wondered  if  she  were  asleep.  Perhaps 
she  was  out  on  the  porch,  lonely,  suffering,  and 
thinking  of  him.  He  felt  her  kiss  and  her  tears 
upon  his  hand.  Did  he  not  love  her?  Could 
there  be  any  doubt  about  that?  His  thoughts 
turned  to  Raines,  and  he  saw  the  mountaineer 
in  his  lonely  cabin,  sitting  with  his  head  bowed 
in  his  hands  in  front  of  the  dying  fire.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  and  another  picture  rose  before 
him — a  scene  at  home.  He  had  taken  Easter 
to  New  York.  How  brilliant  the  light!  what 
warmth  and  luxury!  There  stood  his  father, 
there  his  mother.  What  gracious  dignity  they 
had!  Here  was  his  sister — what  beauty  and 
elegance  and  grace  of  manner!  But  Easter! 
Wherever  she  was  placed  the  other  figures 
needed  readjustment.  There  was  something  ir- 
ritably incongruous — Ah!  now  he  had  it — his 
mind  grew  hazy — he  was  asleep. 
81 


DURING  the  weeks  that  followed,  some 
malignant  spirit  seemed  to  be  torturing 
him  with  a  slow  realization  of  all  he  had  lost; 
taunting  him  with  the  possibility  of  regaining 
it  and  the  certainty  of  losing  it  forever. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  dock  at  Jersey  City 
the  fresh  sea  wind  had  thrilled  him  like  a  mem- 
ory, and  his  pulses  leaped  instantly  into  sym- 
pathy with  the  tense  life  that  vibrated  in  the  air. 
He  seemed  never  to  have  been  away  so  long, 
and  never  had  home  seemed  so  pleasant.  His 
sister  had  grown  more  beautiful;  his  mother's 
quiet,  noble  face  was  smoother  and  fairer  than 
it  had  been  for  years;  and  despite  the  absence 
of  his  father,  who  had  been  hastily  summoned 
to  England,  there  was  an  air  of  cheerfulness  in 
the  house  that  was  in  marked  contrast  to  its 
gloom  when  Clayton  was  last  at  home.  He  had 
been  quickened  at  once  into  a  new  appreciation 
of  the  luxury  and  refinement  about  him,  and  he 
soon  began  to  wonder  how  he  had  inured 
himself  to  the  discomforts  and  crudities  of  his 
mountain  life.  Old  habits  easily  resumed  sway 

82 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

over  him.  At  the  club  friend  and  acquaintance 
were  so  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him  that  he  be- 
gan to  suspect  that  his  own  inner  gloom  had 
darkened  their  faces  after  his  father's  misfor- 
tune. Day  after  day  found  him  in  his  favorite 
corner  at  the  club,  watching  the  passing  pageant 
and  listening  eagerly  to  the  conversational  froth 
of  the  town — the  gossip  of  club,  theatre,  and 
society.  His  ascetic  life  in  the  mountains  gave 
to  every  pleasure  the  taste  of  inexperience.  His 
early  youth  seemed  renewed,  so  keen  and  fresh 
were  his  emotions.  He  felt,  too,  that  he  was 
recovering  a  lost  identity,  and  still  the  new  one 
that  had  grown  around  him  would  not  loosen 
its  hold.  He  had  told  his  family  nothing  of 
Easter — why,  he  could  scarcely  have  said — and 
the  difficulty  of  telling  increased  each  day.  His 
secret  began  to  weigh  heavily  upon  him;  and 
though  he  determined  to  unburden  himself  on 
his  father's  return,  he  was  troubled  with  a  vague 
sense  of  deception.  When  he  went  to  recep- 
tions with  his  sister,  this  sense  of  a  double 
identity  was  keenly  felt  amid  the  lights,  the 
music,  the  flowers,  the  flash  of  eyes  and  white 
necks  and  arms,  the  low  voices,  the  polite,  clear- 
cut  utterances  of  welcome  and  compliment. 

Several  times  he  had  met  a  face  for  which  he 
had  once  had  a  boyish  infatuation.     Its  image 
had  never  been  supplanted  during  his  student 
83 


A   MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

career,  but  he  had  turned  from  it  as  from  a  star 
when  he  came  home  and  found  that  his  life  was 
to  be  built  with  his  own  hands.  Now  the  girl 
had  grown  to  gracious  womanhood,  and  when 
he  saw  her  he  was  thrilled  with  the  remembrance 
that  she  had  once  favored  him  above  all  others. 
One  night  a  desire  assailed  him  to  learn  upon 
what  footing  he  then  stood.  He  had  yielded, 
and  she  gave  him  a  kindly  welcome.  They  had 
drifted  to  reminiscence,  and  Clayton  went  home 
that  night  troubled  at  heart  and  angry  that  he 
should  be  so  easily  disturbed ;  surprised  that  the 
days  were  passing  so  swiftly,  and  pained  that 
they  were  filled  less  and  less  with  thoughts  of 
Easter.  With  a  pang  of  remorse  and  fear,  he 
determined  to  go  back  to  the  mountains  as  soon 
as  his  father  came  home.  He  knew  the  effect 
of  habit.  He  would  forget  these  pleasures  felt 
so  keenly  now,  as  he  had  once  forgotten  them, 
and  he  would  leave  before  their  hold  upon  him 
was  secure. 

Knowing  the  danger  that  beset  him,  Puritan 
that  he  was,  he  had  avoided  it  all  he  could.  He 
even  stopped  his  daily  visits  to  the  club,  and 
spent  most  of  his  time  at  home  with  his  mother 
and  sister.  Once  only,  to  his  bitter  regret,  was 
he  induced  to  go  out.  Wagner's  tidal  wave  had 
reached  New  York;  it  was  the  opening  night  of 
the  season,  and  the  opera  was  one  that  he  had 

84 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJBOPA 

learned  to  love  in  Germany.  The  very  bril- 
liancy of  the  scene  threw  him  into  gloom,  so 
aloof  did  he  feel  from  it  all — the  great  theatre 
aflame  with  lights,  the  circling  tiers  of  faces,  the 
pit  with  its  hundred  musicians,  their  eyes  on  the 
leader,  who  stood  above  them  with  baton  up- 
raised and  German  face  already  aglow. 

In  his  student  days  he  had  loved  music,  but 
he  had  little  more  than  trifled  with  it;  now, 
strangely  enough,  his  love,  even  his  understand- 
ing, seemed  to  have  grown;  and  when  the 
violins  thrilled  all  the  vast  space  into  life, 
he  was  shaken  with  a  passion  newly  born. 
All  the  evening  he  sat  riveted.  A  rush  of 
memories  came  upon  him — memories  of  his 
student  life,  with  its  dreams  and  ideals  of  cul- 
ture and  scholarship,  which  rose  from  his  past 
again  like  phantoms.  In  the  elevation  of  the 
moment  the  trivial  pleasures  that  had  been 
tempting  him  became  mean  and  unworthy. 
With  a  pang  of  bitter  regret  he  saw  himself  as 
he  might  have  been,  as  he  yet  might  be. 

A  few  days  later  his  father  came  home,  and 
his  distress  of  mind  was  complete.  Clayton 
need  stay  in  the  mountains  but  little  longer,  he 
said;  he  was  fast  making  up  his  losses,  and  he 
had  hoped  after  his  trip  to  England  to  have 
Clayton  at  once  in  New  York;  but  now  he  had 
best  wait  perhaps  another  year.  Then  had 

85 


A   MOUNTAIN"   EUROPA 

come  a  struggle  that  racked  heart  and  brain. 
All  he  had  ever  had  was  before  him  again. 
Could  it  be  his  duty  to  shut  himself  from  this 
life — his  natural  heritage — to  stifle  the  highest 
demands  of  his  nature?  Was  he  seriously  in 
love  with  that  mountain  girl?  Had  he  indeed 
ever  been  sure  of  himself?  If,  then,  he  did  not 
love  her  beyond  all  question,  would  he  not 
wrong  himself,  wrong  her,  by  marrying  her? 
Ah,  but  might  he  not  wrong  her,  wrong  himself 
— even  more?  He  was  bound  to  her  by  every 
tie  that  his  sensitive  honor  recognized  among  the 
duties  of  one  human  being  to  another.  He  had 
sought  her;  he  had  lifted  her  above  her  own  life. 
If  one  human  being  had  ever  put  its  happiness  in 
the  hands  of  another,  that  had  been  done.  If  he 
had  not  deliberately  taught  her  to  love  him,  he 
had  not  tried  to  prevent  it.  He  could  not  ex- 
cuse himself;  the  thought  of  gaining  her  affec- 
tion had  occurred  to  him,  and  he  had  put  it  aside. 
There  was  no  excuse;  for  when  she  gave  her 
love,  he  had  accepted  it,  and,  as  far  as  she  knew, 
had  given  his  own  unreservedly.  Ah,  that  fatal 
moment  of  weakness,  that  night  on  the  moun- 
tain-side! Could  he  tell  her,  could  he  tell 
Raines,  the  truth,  and  ask  to  be  released? 
What  could  Easter  with  her  devotion,  and 
Raines  with  his  singleness  of  heart,  know  of  this 
substitute  for  love  which  civilization  had  taught 

86 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

him  ?  Or,  granting  that  they  could  understand, 
he  might  return  home;  but  Easter — what  was 
left  for  her? 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  persuade  himself  that 
her  love  would  fade  away,  perhaps  quickly,  and 
leave  no  scar;  that  Raines  would  in  time  win  her 
for  himself,  his  first  idea  of  their  union  be  real- 
ized, and,  in  the  end,  all  happen  for  the  best. 
That  might  easily  be  possible  with  a  different 
nature  under  different  conditions — a  nature  less 
passionate,  in  contact  with  the  world  and  re- 
sponsive to  varied  interests ;  but  not  with  Easter 
— alone  with  a  love  that  had  shamed  him,  with 
mountain,  earth,  and  sky  unchanged,  and  the 
vacant  days  marked  only  by  a  dreary  round 
of  wearisome  tasks.  He  remembered  Raines's 
last  words — "  Air  ye  goin'  to  leave  the  po'  gal 
to  die  sorrowin'  f er  ye  ?  "  What  happiness 
would  be  possible  for  him  with  that  lonely 
mountain-top  and  the  white,  drawn  face  forever 
haunting  him? 

That  very  night  a  letter  came,  with  a  rude 
superscription — the  first  from  Easter.  Within 
it  was  a  poor  tintype,  from  which  Easter's  eyes 
looked  shyly  at  him.  Before  he  left  he  had 
tried  in  vain  to  get  her  to  thp  tent  of  an  itiner- 
ant photographer.  During  his  absence,  she 
had  evidently  gone  of  her  own  accord.  The 
face  was  very  beautiful,  and  in  it  was  an  expres- 

87 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

sion  of  questioning,  modest  pride.  "  Aren't  you 
surprised?  "  it  seemed  to  say — "  and  pleased?  " 
Only  the  face,  with  its  delicate  lines,  and  the 
throat  and  the  shoulders  were  visible.  She 
looked  almost  refined.  And  the  note — it  was 
badly  spelled  and  written  with  great  difficulty, 
but  it  touched  him.  She  was  lonely,  she  said, 
and  she  wanted  him  to  come  back.  Lonely — 
that  cry  was  in  each  line. 

His  response  to  this  was  an  instant  resolution 
to  go  back  at  once,  and,  sensitive  and  pliant  as 
his  nature  was,  there  was  no  hesitation  for  him 
when  his  duty  was  clear  and  a  decision  once 
made.  With  great  care  and  perfect  frankness 
he  had  traced  the  history  of  his  infatuation  in  a 
letter  to  his  father,  to  be  communicated  when 
the  latter  chose  to  his  mother  and  sister.  Now 
he  was  nearing  the  mountains  again. 


88 


XI 

THE  journey  to  the  mountains  was  made 
with  a  heavy  heart.  In  his  absence 
everything  seemed  to  have  suffered  a  change. 
Jellico  had  never  seemed  so  small,  so  coarse,  so 
wretched  as  when  he  stepped  from  the  dusty 
train  and  saw  it  lying  dwarfed  and  shapeless  in 
the  afternoon  sunlight.  The  State  line  bisects 
the  straggling  streets  of  frame-houses.  On  the 
Kentucky  side  an  extraordinary  spasm  of  moral- 
ity had  quieted  into  local  option.  Just  across 
the  way  in  Tennessee  was  a  row  of  saloons.  It 
was  "  pay-day  "  for  the  miners,  and  the  worst 
element  of  all  the  mines  was  drifting  in  to  spend 
the  following  Sabbath  in  unchecked  vice.  Sev- 
eral rough,  brawny  fellows  were  already  stag- 
gering from  Tennessee  into  Kentucky,  and 
around  one  saloon  hung  a  crowd  of  slatternly 
negroes,  men  and  women.  Heartsick  with  dis- 
gust, Clayton  hurried  into  the  lane  that  wound 
through  the  valley.  Were  these  hovels,  he 
asked  himself  in  wonder,  the  cabins  he  once 
thought  so  poetic,  so  picturesque?  How  was  it 
that  they  suggested  now  only  a  pitiable  poverty 
89 


A   MOUNTAIN"   ETJKOPA 

of  life?  From  each,  as  he  passed,  came  a  rough, 
cordial  shout  of  greeting.  Why  was  he  jarred 
so  strangely?  Even  nature  had  changed.  The 
mountains  seemed  stunted,  less  beautiful.  The 
light,  streaming  through  the  western  gap  with 
all  the  splendor  of  a  mountain  sunset,  no  longer 
thrilled  him.  The  moist  fragrance  of  the  earth 
at  twilight,  the  sad  pipings  of  birds  by  the  way- 
side, the  faint,  clear  notes  of  a  wood-thrush — his 
favorite — from  the  edge  of  the  forest,  even  the 
mid-air  song  of  a  meadow-lark  above  his  head, 
were  unheeded  as,  with  face  haggard  with 
thought  and  travel,  he  turned  doggedly  from 
the  road  and  up  the  mountain  toward  Easter's 
home.  The  novelty  and  ethnological  zeal  that 
had  blinded  him  to  the  disagreeable  phases  of 
mountain  life  were  gone;  so  was  the  pedestal 
from  which  he  had  descended  to  make  a  closer 
study  of  the  people.  For  he  felt  now  that  he 
had  gone  among  them  with  an  unconscious  con- 
descension ;  his  interest  seemed  now  to  have  been 
little  more  than  curiosity — a  pastime  to  escape 
brooding  over  his  own  change  of  fortune.  And 
with  Easter — ah,  how  painfully  clear  his  mental 
vision  had  grown !  Was  it  the  tragedy  of  wast- 
ing possibilities  that  had  drawn  him  to  her — to 
help  her — or  was  it  his  own  miserable  selfish- 
ness, after  all? 

No  one  was    visible    when    he  reached  the 
90 


A  MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

cabin.  The  calm  of  mountain  and  sky  enthralled 
it  as  completely  as  the  cliff  that  towered  behind 
it.  The  day  still  lingered,  and  the  sunlight 
rested  lightly  on  each  neighboring  crest.  As  he 
stepped  upon  the  porch  there  was  a  slight  noise 
within  the  cabin,  and,  peering  into  the  dark  in- 
terior, he  called  Easter's  name.  There  was  no 
answer,  and  he  sank  wearily  into  a  chair,  his 
thoughts  reverting  homeward.  By  this  time 
his  mother  and  sister  must  know  why  he  had 
come  back  to  the  mountains.  He  could  imagine 
their  consternation  and  grief.  Perhaps  that  was 
only  the  beginning;  he  might  be  on  the  eve  of 
causing  them  endless  unhappiness.  He  had 
thought  to  involve  them  as  little  as  possible  by 
remaining  in  the  mountains ;  but  the  thought  of 
living  there  was  now  intolerable  in  the  new  re- 
lations he  would  sustain  to  the  people.  What 
should  he  do?  where  go?  As  he  bent  forward 
in  perplexity,  there  was  a  noise  again  in  the 
cabin — this  time  the  stealthy  tread  of  feet — and 
before  he  could  turn,  a  rough  voice  vibrated 
threateningly  in  his  ears : 

"  Say  who  ye  air,  and  what  yer  business  is, 
mighty  quick,  er  ye  hain't  got  a  minute  to  live." 

Clayton  looked  up,  and  to  his  horror  saw  the 

muzzle  of  a  rifle  pointed  straight  at  his  head. 

At  the  other  end  of  it,  and  standing  in  the  door, 

was  a  short,  stocky  figure,  a  head  of  bushy  hair> 

91 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

and  a  pair  of  small,  crafty  eyes.  The  fierceness 
and  suddenness  of  the  voice,  in  the  great  silence 
about  him,  and  its  terrible  earnestness,  left  him 
almost  paralyzed. 

"  Come,  who  air  ye?  Say  quick,  and  don't 
move,  nother." 

Clayton  spoke  his  name  with  difficulty.  The 
butt  of  the  rifle  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  with 
a  harsh  laugh  its  holder  advanced  to  him  with 
hand  outstretched : 

"  So  ye  air  Easter's  feller,  air  ye  ?  Well,  I'm 
yer  dad — that's  to  be.  Shake." 

Clayton  shuddered.  Good  heavens !  this  was 
Easter's  father !  More  than  once  or  twice,  his 
name  had  never  been  mentioned  at  the  cabin. 

"  I  tuk  ye  fer  a  raider,"  continued  the  old 
mountaineer,  not  noticing  Clayton's  repulsion, 
"  'n'  ef  ye  had  'a'  been,  ye  wouldn't  be  nobody 
now.  I  reckon  Easter  hain't  told  ye  much  about 
me,  'n'  I  reckon  she  hev  a  right  to  be  a  leetle 
ashamed  of  me.  I  had  a  leetle  trouble  down 
thar  in  the  valley — I  s'pose  you've  heerd  about 
it — 'n'  I've  had  to  keep  kind  o'  quiet.  I  seed 
ye  once  afore,  'n'  I  come  near  shootin'  ye, 
thinkin'  ye  was  a  raider.  Am  mighty  glad  I 
didn't,  fer  Easter  is  powerful  sot  on  ye.  Sherd 
thought  I  could  resk  comin'  down'  to  the  wed- 
din'.  They  hev  kind  o'  give  up  the  s'arch,  'n' 
none  o'  the  boys  won't  tell  on  me.  We'll  have 

92 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

an  old-timer,  I  tell  ye.  Ye  folks  from  the  settle- 
mints  air  mighty  high-heeled,  but  old  Bill  Hicks 
don't  allus  go  bar' footed.  He  kin  step  purty 
high,  'n'  he's  a-goin'  to  do  it  at  that  weddin'. 
Hev  somefin  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly  pulling  out 
a  flask  of  colorless  liquid.  "  Ez  ye  air  to  be  one 
o'  the  fambly,  I  don't  mind  tellin'  ye  thar's  the 
very  moonshine  that  caused  the  leetle  trouble 
down  in  the  valley." 

For  fear  of  giving  offence,  Clayton  took  a 
swallow  of  the  liquid,  which  burned  him  like 
fire.  He  had  scarcely  recovered  from  the  first 
shock,  and  he  had  listened  to  the  man  and 
watched  him  with  a  sort  of  enthralling  fascina- 
tion. He  was  Easter's  father.  He  could  even 
see  a  faint  suggestion  of  Easter's  face  in  the  cast 
of  the  features  before  him,  coarse  and  degraded 
as  they  were,  fie  had  the  same  nervous,  im- 
petuous quickness,  and,  horrified  by  the  likeness, 
Clayton  watched  him  sink  back  into  a  chair,  pipe 
in  mouth,  and  relapse  into  a  stolidity  that 
seemed  incapable  of  the  energy  and  fire  shown 
scarcely  a  moment  before.  His  life  in  the 
mountains  had  made  him  as  shaggy  as  some 
wild  animal.  He  was  coatless,  and  his  trousers 
of  jeans  were  upheld  by  a  single  home-made 
suspender.  His  beard  was  yet  scarcely  touched 
with  gray,  and  his  black,  lustreless  hair  fell  from 
under  a  round  hat  of  felt  with  ragged  edges  and 

93 


A   MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

uncertain  color.  The  mountaineer  did  not  speak 
again  until,  with  great  deliberation  and  care,  he 
had  filled  a  cob  pipe.  Then  he  bent  his  sharp 
eyes  upon  Clayton  so  fixedly  that  the  latter  let 
his  own  fall. 

"  Mebbe  ye  don't  know  that  I'm  ag'in'  fur- 
riners,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  all  o'  ye;  V  ef  the 
Lord  hisself  hed  'a'  tol'  me  thet  my  gal  would 
be  a-marryin'  one,  I  wouldn't  'a'  believed  him. 
But  Sherd  hev  told  me  ye  air  all  right,  'n'  ef 
Sherd  says  ye  air,  why,  ye  air,  I  reckon,  'n'  I 
hevn't  got  nothin'  to  say;  though  I  hev  got  a 
heap  ag'in  ye — all  o'  ye." 

His  voice  had  a  hint  of  growing  anger  under 
the  momentary  sense  of  his  wrongs,  and,  not 
wishing  to  incense  him  further,  Clayton  said 
nothing. 

"  Ye  air  back  a  little  sooner  than  ye  ex- 
pected, ain't  ye?"  he  asked,  presently,  with  an 
awkward  effort  at  good-humor.  "  I  reckon  ye 
air  gittin'  anxious.  Well,  we  hev  been  gittin' 
ready  fer  ye,  'n'  you  'n'  Easter  kin  hitch  ez  soon 
ez  ye  please.  Sherd  Raines  air  goin'  to  do  the 
marryin'.  He  air  the  best  friend  I  got.  Sherd 
was  a-courtin'  the  gal,  too,  but  he  hevn't  got 
no  gredge  ag'in  ye,  'n'  he  hev  promised  to  tie 
ye.  Sherd  air  a  preacher  now.  He  hev  just 
got  his  license.  He  didn't  want  to  do  it,  but  I 
told  him  he  had  to.  We'll  hev  the  biggest  wed- 

94 


A    MOUNTAIN    EUKOPA 

din'  ever  seed  in  these  mountains,  I  tell  ye.  Any 
o'  yo'  folks  be  on  hand?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Clayton,  soberly,  "  I  think 
not." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  we  kin  fill  up  the  house." 

Clayton's  heart  sank  at  the  ordeal  of  a  wed- 
ding with  such  a  master  of  ceremonies.  He  was 
about  to  ask  where  Easter  and  her  mother  were, 
when,  to  his  relief,  he  saw  them  both  in  the 
path  below,  approaching  the  house.  The  girl 
was  carrying  a  bucket  of  water  on  her  head. 
Once  he  would  have  thought  her  picturesque, 
but  now  it  pained  him  to  see  her  doing  such 
rough  work.  When  she  saw  him,  she  gave  a 
cry  of  surprise  and  delight  that  made  Clayton 
tingle  with  remorse.  Then  running  to  him  with 
glowing  face,  she  stopped  suddenly,  and,  with 
a  look  down  at  her  bare  feet  and  soiled  gown, 
fled  into  the  cabin.  Clayton  followed,  but  the 
room  was  so  dark  he  could  see  nothing. 

"  Easter!  "  he  called.  There  was  no  answer, 
but  he  was  suddenly  seized  about  the  neck  by 
a  pair  of  unseen  arms  and  kissed  by  unseen  lips 
twice  in  fierce  succession,  and  before  he .  could 
turn  and  clasp  the  girl  she  was  laughing  softly 
in  the  next  room,  with  a  barred  door  between 
them.  Clayton  waited  patiently  several  min- 
utes, and  then  asked : 

"  Easter,  aren't  you  ready?  " 

95 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

"  Not  yit — not  yet!  "  She  corrected  herself 
with  such  vehemence  that  Clayton  laughed.  She 
came  out  presently,  and  blushed  when  Clayton 
looked  her  over  from  head  to  foot  with  astonish- 
ment. She  was  simply  and  prettily  dressed  in 
white  muslin;  a  blue  ribbon  was  about  her 
throat,  and  her  hair  was  gathered  in  a  Psyche 
knot  that  accented  the  classicism  of  her  profile. 
Her  appearance  was  really  refined  and  tasteful. 
When  they  went  out  on  the  porch  he  noticed 
that  her  hands  had  lost  their  tanned  appearance. 
Her  feet  were  slippered,  and  she  wore  black 
stockings.  He  remembered  the  book  of  fash- 
ion-plates he  had  once  sent  her ;  it  was  that  that 
had  quickened  her  instinct  of  dress.  He  said 
nothing,  but  the  happy  light  in  Easter's  face 
shone  brighter  as  she  noted  his  pleased  and  puz- 
zled gaze. 

"  Why,  ye  look  like  another  man,"  said  Eas- 
ter's mother,  who  had  been  looking  Clayton 
over  with  a  quizzical  smile.  "  Is  that  the  way 
folks  dress  out  in  the  settlemints?  'N'  look  at 
that  gal.  Ef  she  hev  done  anythin'  sence  ye 
hev  been  gone  but "  The  rest  of  the  sen- 
tence was  smothered  in  the  palm  of  Easter's 
hand,  and  she  too  began  scrutinizing  Clayton 
closely.  The  mountaineer  said  nothing,  and 
after  a  curious  glance  at  Easter  resumed  his 
pipe. 

96 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

"  You  look  like  a  pair  of  butterflies,"  said  the 
mother  when  released.  "  Sherd  oughter  be 
mighty  proud  of  his  first  marryin'.  I  s'pose  ye 
know  he  air  a  preacher  now?  Ye  oughter  heerd 
him  preach  last  Sunday.  It  was  his  fust  time. 
The  way  he  lighted  inter  the  furriners  was  a 
caution.  He  'lowed  he  was  a-goin'  to  fight 
cyard-playin'  and  dancin'  ez  long  ez  he  hed 
breath." 

"  Yes;  'n'  thar's  whar  Sherd  air  a  fool.  I'm 
ag'in  furriners,  too,  but  thar  hain't  no  harm  in 
dancin',  'n'  thar's  goin'  to  be  dancin'  at  this 
weddin'  ef  I'm  alive." 

Easter  shrank  perceptibly  when  her  father 
spoke,  and  looked  furtively  at  Clayton,  who 
winced,  in  spite  of  himself,  as  the  rough  voice 
grated  in  his  ear.  Instantly  her  face  grew  un- 
happy, and  contained  an  appeal  for  pardon  that 
he  was  quick  to  understand  and  appreciate. 
Thereafter  he  concealed  his  repulsion,  and 
treated  the  rough  bear  so  affably  that  Easter's 
eyes  grew  moist  with  gratitude. 

Darkness  was  gathering  in  the  valley  below 
when  he  rose  to  go.  Easter  had  scarcely  spoken 
to  him,  but  her  face  and  her  eyes,  fixed  always 
upon  him,  were  eloquent  with  joy.  Once  as  she 
passed  behind  him  her  hand  rested  with  a  timid, 
caressing  touch  upon  his  shoulder,  and  now,  as 
he  walked  away  from  the  porch,  she  called  him 
97 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

back.     He  turned,  and  she  had  gone  into  the 
house. 

"  What  is  it,  Easter?  "  he  asked,  stepping 
into  the  dark  room.  His  hand  was  grasped  in 
both  her  own  and  held  tremblingly. 

"  Don't  mind  dad,"  she  whispered,  softly. 
Something  warm  and  moist  fell  upon  his  hand 
as  she  unloosed  it,  and  she  was  gone. 

That  night  he  wrote  home  in  a  better  frame 
of  mind.  The  charm  of  the  girl's  personality 
had  asserted  its  power  again,  and  hopes  that  had 
almost  been  destroyed  by  his  trip  home  were 
rekindled  by  her  tasteful  appearance,  her  deli- 
cacy of  feeling,  and  by  her  beauty,  which  he  had 
not  overrated.  He  asked  that  his  sister  might 
meet  him  in  Louisville  after  the  wedding — 
whenever  that  should  be.  They  two  could  de- 
cide then  what  should  be  done.  His  own  idea 
was  to  travel;  and  so  great  was  his  confidence 
in  Easter,  he  believed  that,  in  time,  he  could  take 
her  to  New  York  without  fear. 


98 


XII 

IT  was  plain  that  Raines — to  quiet  the  old 
man's  uneasiness,  perhaps — had  told  him 
of  his  last  meeting  with  Clayton,  and  that,  dur- 
ing the  absence  of  the  latter,  some  arrangements 
for  the  wedding  had  been  made,  even  by  Easter, 
who  in  her  trusting  innocence  had  perhaps  never 
thought  of  any  other  end  to  their  relations.  In 
consequence,  there  was  an  unprecedented  stir 
among  the  mountaineers.  The  marriage  of  a 
"  citizen  "  with  a  "  furriner  "  was  an  unprece- 
dented event,  and  the  old  mountaineer,  who  be- 
gan to  take  some  pride  in  the  alliance,  empha- 
sized it  at  every  opportunity. 

At  the  mines  Clayton's  constant  visits  to  the 
mountain  were  known  to  everybody,  but  little 
attention  had  been  paid  to  them.  Now,  how- 
ever, when  the  rumor  of  the  wedding  seemed 
confirmed  by  his  return  and  his  silence,  every 
one  was  alert  with  a  curiosity  so  frankly  shown 
that  he  soon  became  eager  to  get  away  from  the 
mountains.  Accordingly,  he  made  known  his 
wish  to  Easter's  parents  that  the  marriage 
should  take  place  as  soon  as  possible.  Both  re- 
99 


ceived  the  suggestion  with  silent  assent.  Then 
had  followed  many  difficulties.  Only  as  a  great 
concession  to  the  ideas  and  customs  of  "  fur- 
riners  "  would  the  self-willed  old  mountaineer 
agree  that  the  ceremony  should  take  place  at 
night,  and  that  after  the  supper  and  the  dance, 
the  two  should  leave  Jellico  at  daybreak.  Moun- 
tain marriages  were  solemnized  in  the  daytime, 
and  wedding  journeys  were  unknown.  The  old 
man  did  not  understand  why  Clayton  should 
wish  to  leave  the  mountains,  and  the  haste  of  the 
latter  seemed  to  give  him  great  offence.  When 
Clayton  had  ventured  to  suggest,  instead,  that 
the  marriage  should  be  quiet,  and  that  he  and 
Easter  should  remain  on  the  mountain  a  few 
days  before  leaving,  he  fumed  with  anger;  and 
thereafter  any  suggestion  from  the  young  engi- 
neer was  met  with  a  suspicion  that  looked  om- 
inous. Raines  was  away  on  his  circuit,  and 
would  not  return  until  just  before  the  wedding, 
so  that  from  him  Clayton  could  get  no  help. 
Very  wisely,  then,  he  interfered  no  more,  but 
awaited  the  day  with  dread. 

It  was  nearing  dusk  when  he  left  the  camp  on 
his  wedding-night.  Half-way  up  the  mountain 
he  stopped  to  lean  against  the  kindly  breast  of 
a  bowlder  blocking  the  path.  It  was  the  spot 
where  he  had  seen  Easter  for  the  first  time.  The 
mountains  were  green  again,  as  they  were  then, 
100 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

but  the  scene  seemed  sadly  changed.  The  sun 
was  gone ;  the  evening-star  had  swung  its  white 
light  like  a  censer  above  Devil's  Den ;  the  clouds 
were  moving  swiftly  through  the  darkening  air, 
like  a  frightened  flock  seeking  a  fold;  and  the 
night  was  closing  fast  over  the  cluster  of  faint 
camp-fires.  The  spirit  brooding  over  mountain 
and  sky  was  unspeakably  sad,  and  with  a  sharp 
pain  at  his  heart  Clayton  turned  from  it  and 
hurried  on.  Mountain,  sky,  and  valley  were 
soon  lost  in  the  night.  When  he  reached  the 
cabin  rays  of  bright  light  were  flashing  from 
chink  and  crevice  into  the  darkness,  and  from 
the  kitchen  came  the  sounds  of  busy  prepara- 
tion. Already  many  guests  had  arrived.  A 
group  of  men  who  stood  lazily  talking  in  the 
porch  became  silent  as  he  approached,  but,  rec- 
ognizing none  of  them,  he  entered  the  cabin.  A 
dozen  women  were  seated  about  the  room,  and 
instantly  their  eyes  were  glued  upon  him.  As 
the  kitchen  door  swung  open  he  saw  Easter's 
mother  bending  over  the  fireplace,  a  table  al- 
ready heavily  laden,  and  several  women  bustling 
about  it.  Above  his  head  he  heard  laughter,  a 
hurried  tramping  of  feet,  and  occasional  cries 
of  surprise  and  delight.  He  paused  at  the  thresh- 
old, hardly  knowing  what  to  do,  and  when  he 
turned  a  titter  from  one  corner  showed  that  his 
embarrassment  was  seen.  On  the  porch  he  was 
101 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

seized  by  Easter's  father,  who  drew  him  back 
into  the  room.  The  old  mountaineer's  face  was 
flushed,  and  he  had  been  drinking  heavily. 

"  Oh,  hyar  ye  air!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You're 
right  on  hand,  hain't  ye?  Hyar,  Bill,"  he 
called,  thrusting  his  head  out  of  the  door,  "  you 
V  Jim  'n'  Milt  come  in  hyar."  Three  awk- 
ward young  mountaineers  entered.  "  These 
fellers  air  goin'  to  help  ye." 

They  were  to  be  his  ushers.  Clayton  shook 
hands  with  them  gravely. 

"  Oh,  we  air  about  ready  fer  ye,  'n'  we  air 
only  waitin'  fer  Sherd  and  the  folks  to  come," 
continued  the  mountaineer,  jubilantly,  winking 
significantly  at  Clayton  and  his  attendants,  who 
stood  about  him  at  the  fireplace.  Clayton  shook 
his  head  firmly,  but  the  rest  followed  Hicks,  who 
turned  at  the  door  and  repeated  the  invitation 
with  a  frowning  face.  Clayton  was  left  the 
focus  of  feminine  eyes,  whose  unwavering  di- 
rectness kept  his  own  gaze  on  the  floor.  People 
began  to  come  in  rapidly,  most  of  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before.  The  room  was  filled,  save 
for  a  space  about  him.  Every  one  gave  him  a 
look  of  curiosity  that  made  him  feel  like  some 
strange  animal  on  exhibition.  Once  more  he 
tried  to  escape  to  the  porch,  and  again  he  was 
met  by  Easter's  father,  who  this  time  was  accom- 
panied by  Raines. 

102 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

The  young  circuit-rider  was  smoothly  shaven, 
and  dressed  in  dark  clothes,  and  his  calm  face 
and  simple  but  impressive  manner  seemed  at 
once  to  alter  the  atmosphere  of  the  room.  He 
grasped  Clayton's  hand  warmly,  and  without  a 
trace  of  self-consciousness.  The  room  had 
grown  instantly  quiet,  and  Raines  began  to  share 
the  curious  interest  that  Clayton  had  caused ;  for 
the  young  mountaineer's  sermon  had  provoked 
discussion  far  and  wide,  and,  moreover,  the 
peculiar  relations  of  the  two  toward  Easter 
were  known  and  rudely  appreciated.  Hicks  was 
subdued  into  quiet  respect,  and  tried  to  conceal 
his  incipient  intoxication.  The  effort  did  not 
last  long.  When  the  two  fiddlers  came,  he  led 
them  in  with  a  defiant  air,  and  placed  them  in 
the  corner,  bustling  about  officiously  but  with- 
out looking  at  Raines,  whose  face  began  to 
cloud. 

;<  Well,  we're  all  hyar,  I  reckon!"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  his  terrible  voice.  "  Is  Easter 
ready?  "  he  shouted  up  the  steps. 

A  confused  chorus  answered  him  affirmative- 
ly, and  he  immediately  arranged  Clayton  in  one 
corner  of  the  room  with  his  serious  attendants 
on  one  side,  and  Raines,  grave  to  solemnity,  on 
the  other.  Easter's  mother  and  her  assistants 
came  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  the  doors 
Were  filled  with  faces.  Above,  the  tramping 
103 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

of  feet  became  more  hurried;  below,  all  stood 
with  expectant  faces  turned  to  the  rude  stair- 
case. Clayton's  heart  began  to  throb,  and  a 
strange  light  brightened  under  Raines's  heavy 
brows. 

"  Hurry  up,  thar!  "  shouted  Hicks,  impa- 
tiently. 

A  moment  later  two  pairs  of  rough  shoes  came 
down  the  steps,  and  after  them  two  slippered 
feet  that  fixed  every  eye  in  the  room,  until  the 
figure  and  face  above  them  slowly  descended 
into  the  light.  Midway  the  girl  paused  with  a 
timid  air.  Had  an  angel  been  lowered  to  mor- 
tal view,  the  waiting  people  would  not  have 
been  stricken  with  more  wonder.  Raines's  face 
relaxed  into  a  look  almost  of  awe,  and  even 
Hicks  for  the  instant  was  stunned  into  rever- 
ence. Mountain  eyes  had  never  beheld  such 
loveliness  so  arrayed.  It  was  simple  enough — 
the  garment — all  white,  and  of  a  misty  texture, 
yet  it  formed  a  mysterious  vision  to  them. 
About  the  girl's  brow  was  a  wreath  of  pink  and 
white  laurel.  A  veil  had  not  been  used.  It 
would  hide  her  face,  she  said,  and  she  did  not 
see  why  that  should  be  done.  For  an  instant 
she  stood  poised  so  lightly  that  she  seemed  to 
sway  like  a  vision,  as  the  candle-lights  quivered 
about  her,  with  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of 
her,  and  her  eyes  wandering  about  the  room  till 
104 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUBOPA 

they  lighted  upon  Clayton  with  a  look  of  love 
that  seemed  to  make  her  conscious  only  of  him. 
Then,  with  quickening  breath,  lips  parted  slight- 
ly, cheeks  slowly  flushing,  and  shining  eyes  still 
upon  him,  she  moved  slowly  across  the  room 
until  she  stood  at  his  side. 

Raines  gathered  himself  together  as  from  a 
dream,  and  stepped  before  the  pair.  Broken  and 
husky  at  first,  his  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  him- 
self, but  thereafter  there  was  no  hint  of  the 
powerful  emotions  at  play  within  him.  Only  as 
he  joined  their  hands,  his  eyes  rested  an  instant 
with  infinite  tenderness  on  Easter's  face — as 
though  the  look  were  a  last  farewell — and  his 
voice  deepened  with  solemn  earnestness  when 
he  bade  Clayton  protect  and  cherish  her  until 
death.  There  was  a  strange  mixture  in  those 
last  words  of  the  office  and  the  man — of  di- 
vine authority  and  personal  appeal — and  Clay- 
ton was  deeply  stirred.  The  benediction  over, 
the  young  preacher  was  turning  away,  when 
some  one  called  huskily  from  the  rear  of  the 
cabin : 

"  Whyn't  ye  kiss  the  bride?  " 

It  was  Easter's  father,  and  the  voice,  rough 
as  it  was,  brought  a  sensation  of  relief  to  all. 
The  young  mountaineer's  features  contracted 
with  swift  pain,  and  as  Easter  leaned  toward 
him,  with  subtle  delicacy,  he  touched,  not  her 
105, 


A   MOUNTAIN    EUROPA 

lips,  but  her  forehead,  as  reverently  as  though 
she  had  been  a  saint. 

Instantly  the  fiddles  began,  the  floor  was 
cleared,  the  bridal  party  hurried  into  the 
kitchen,  and  the  cabin  began  to  shake  beneath 
dancing  feet.  Hicks  was  fulfilling  his  word, 
and  in  the  kitchen  his  wife  had  done  her  part. 
Everything  known  to  the  mountaineer  palate 
was  piled  in  profusion  on  the  table,  but  Clayton 
and  Easter  ate  nothing.  To  him  the  whole 
evening  was  a  nightmare,  which  the  solemn 
moments  of  the  marriage  had  made  the  more 
hideous.  He  was  restless  and  eager  to  get  away. 
The  dancing  was  becoming  more  furious,  and 
above  the  noise  rose  Hicks's  voice  prompting 
the  dancers.  The  ruder  ones  still  hung  about 
the  doors,  regarding  Clayton  curiously,  or  with 
eager  eyes  upon  the  feast.  Easter  was  vaguely 
troubled,  and  conflicting  with  the  innocent  pride 
and  joy  in  her  eyes  were  the  questioning  glances 
she  turned  to  Clayton's  darkening  face.  At  last 
they  were  hurried  out,  and  in  came  the  crowd 
like  hungry  wolves. 

Placing  Clayton  and  Easter  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  the  attendants  themselves  took  part  in  the 
dancing,  and  such  dancing  Clayton  had  never 
seen.  Doors  and  windows  were  full  of  faces, 
and  the  room  was  crowded;  from  the  kitchen 
came  coarse  laughter  and  the  rattling  of  dishes. 
106 


Occasionally  Hicks  would  disappear  with  sev- 
eral others,  and  would  return  with  his  face  red- 
der than  ever. 

Easter  became  uneasy.  Once  she  left  Clay- 
ton's side  and  expostulated  with  her  father,  but 
he  shook  her  from  his  arm  roughly.  Raines 
saw  this,  and  a  moment  later  he  led  the  old 
mountaineer  from  the  room.  Thereafter  the 
latter  was  quieter,  but  only  for  a  little  while. 
Several  times  the  kitchen  was  filled  and  emptied, 
and  ever  was  the  crowd  unsteadier.  Soon  even 
Raines's  influence  was  of  no  avail,  and  the  bottle 
was  passed  openly  from  guest  to  guest. 

"Whyn't  ye  dance?" 

Clayton  felt  his  arm  grasped,  and  Hicks  stood 
swaying  before  him. 

"  Whyn't  ye  dance?  "  he  repeated.  "  Can't 
ye  dance  ?  Mebbe  ye  air  too  good — like  Sherd. 
Well,  Easter  kin.  Hyar,  Mart,  come  V  dance 
with  the  gal.  She  air  the  best  dancer  in  these 
parts." 

Clayton  had  his  hand  upon  Easter  as  though 
to  forbid  her.  The  mountaineer  saw  the  move- 
ment, and  his  face  flamed;  but  before  he  could 
speak,  the  girl  pressed  Clayton's  arm,  and,  with 
an  appealing  glance,  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  That's  right,"  said  her  father,  approvingly, 
but  with  a  look  of  drunken  malignancy  toward 
Clayton.  "  Now,"  he  called  out,  in  a  loud 
107 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

voice,  "  I  want  this  couple  to  have  the  floor,  *n* 
everybody  to  look  on  'n'  see  what  is  dancin'. 
Start  the  fiddles,  boys." 

It  was  dancing.  The  young  mountaineer  was 
a  slender,  active  fellow,  not  without  grace,  and 
Easter  seemed  hardly  to  touch  the  floor.  They 
began  very  slowly  at  first,  till  Easter,  glancing 
aside  at  Clayton  and  seeing  his  face  deepen  witll 
interest,  and  urged  by  the  remonstrance  of  hef 
father,  the  remarks  of  the  onlookers,  and  the 
increasing  abandon  of  the  music,  gave  herself 
up  to  the  dance.  The  young  mountaineer  was 
no  mean  partner.  Forward  and  back  they 
glided,  their  swift  feet  beating  every  note  of 
the  music;  Easter  receding  before  her  partner, 
and  now  advancing  toward  him,  now  whirling 
away  with  a  disdainful  toss  of  her  head  and 
arms,  and  now  giving  him  her  hand  and  whirl- 
ing till  her  white  skirts  floated  from  the  floor. 
At  last,  with  head  bent  coquettishly  toward  her 
partner,  she  danced  around  him,  and  when  it 
seemed  that  she  would  be  caught  by  his  out- 
stretched hands  she  slipped  from  his  clasp,  and, 
with  burning  cheeks,  flashing  eyes,  and  bridal 
wreath  showering  its  pink-flecked  petals  about 
her,  flew  to  Clayton's  side. 

"  Mebbe  ye  don't  like  that,"  cried  Hicks, 
turning  to  Raines,  who  had  been  gravely  watch- 
ing the  scene. 

108 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

Raines  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  only  looked 
the  drunken  man  in  the  face. 

"  You  two,"  he  continued,  indicating  Clayton 
with  an  angry  shake  of  his  head,  "  air  a-tryin* 
to  spile  ever'body's  fun.  Both  of  ye  air  too 
high-heeled  fer  us  folks.  Y'u  hev  got  mighty 
good  now  that  ye  air  a  preacher,"  he  added, 
with  a  drunken  sneer,  irritated  beyond  endur- 
ance by  Raines's  silence  and  his  steady  look. 
"  I  want  ye  to  know  Bill  Hicks  air  a-runnin' 
things  here,  V  I  don't  want  no  meddlin'.  I'll 
drink  right  here  in  front  o'  ye  " — holding  a  bot- 
tle defiantly  above  his  head — "  'n'  I  mean  to 
dance,  too,  I  warn  ye  now,"  he  added,  stagger- 
ing toward  the  door,  "  I  don't  want  no  med- 
dlin'." 

Easter  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Her 
mother  stood  near  her  husband,  helplessly  trying 
to  get  him  away,  and  fearing  to  arouse  him  more. 
Raines  was  the  most  composed  man  in  the  room, 
and  a  few  moments  later,  when  dancing  was  re- 
sumed, Clayton  heard  his  voice  at  his  ear: 

"  You'd  better  go  upstairs  'n'  wait  till  it's 
time  to  go,"  he  said.  "  He  hev  got  roused  ag'in 
ye,  and  ag'in  me  too.  I'll  keep  out  o'  his  way 
so  as  not  to  aggravate  him,  but  I'll  stay  hyar 
fer  fear  something  will  happen.  Mebbe  he'll 
sober  up  a  little,  but  I'm  afeard  he'll  drink 


more'n  ever." 


109 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUROPA 

A  moment  later,  unseen  by  the  rest,  the  two 
mounted  the  stairway  to  the  little  room  where 
Easter's  girlhood  had  been  passed.  To  Clayton 
the  peace  of  the  primitive  little  chamber  was  an 
infinite  relief.  A  dim  light  showed  a  rude  bed 
in  one  corner  and  a  pine  table  close  by,  whereon 
lay  a  few  books  and  a  pen  and  an  ink-bottle. 
Above,  the  roof  rose  to  a  sharp  angle,  and  the 
low,  unplastered  walls  were  covered  with  pic- 
tures cut  from  the  books  he  had  given  her.  A 
single  window  opened  into  the  night  over  the 
valley  and  to  the  mountains  beyond.  Two  small 
cane-bottom  chairs  were  near  this,  and  in  these 
they  sat  down.  In  the  east  dark  clouds  were 
moving  swiftly  across  the  face  of  the  moon, 
checking  its  light  and  giving  the  dim  valley 
startling  depth  and  blackness.  Rain-drops 
struck  the  roof  at  intervals,  a  shower  of  apple- 
blossoms  rustled  against  the  window  and  drift- 
ed on,  and  below  the  muffled  sound  of  music  and 
shuffling  feet  was  now  and  then  pierced  by 
the  shrill  calls  of  the  prompter.  There  was 
something  ominous  in  the  persistent  tread  of 
feet  and  the  steady  flight  of  the  gloomy  clouds, 
and  quivering  with  vague  fears,  Easter  sank 
down  from  her  chair  to  Clayton's  feet,  and 
burst  into  tears,  as  he  put  his  arms  tenderly 
about  her. 

"  Has  he  ever  treated  you  badly?  " 
no 


A   MOUNTAIN    EUKOPA 

"No,  no,"  she  answered;  "it's  only  the 
whiskey." 

It  was  not  alone  of  her  father's  behavior  that 
she  was  thinking.  Memories  were  busy  within 
her,  and  a  thousand  threads  of  feeling  were 
tightening  her  love  of  home,  the  only  home 
she  had  ever  known.  Now  she  was  leaving 
it  for  a  strange  world  of  which  she  knew  noth- 
ing, and  the  thought  pierced  her  like  a  physical 
pain. 

"Are  we  ever  coming  back  ag'in?"  she 
asked,  with  sudden  fear. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  answered  Clayton,  divining  her 
thoughts;  "whenever  you  wish." 

After  that  she  grew  calmer,  and  remained 
quiet  so  long  that  she  seemed  to  have  fallen 
asleep  like  a  tired  child  relieved  of  its  fears. 
Leaning  forward,  he  looked  into  the  darkness. 
It  was  after  midnight,  surely.  The  clouds  had 
become  lighter,  more  luminous,  and  gradually 
the  moon  broke  through  them,  lifting  the  pall 
from  the  valley,  playing  about  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  and  quivering  at  last  on  the  window.  As 
he  bent  back  to  look  at  the  sleeping  girl,  the 
moonlight  fell  softly  upon  her  face,  revealing  its 
purity  of  color,  and  touching  the  loosened  folds 
of  her  hair,  and  shining  through  a  tear-drop 
which  had  escaped  from  her  closed  lashes.  How 
lovely  the  face  was !  How  pure !  How  child- 
iii 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

like  with  all  its  hidden  strength!  How  abso- 
lute her  confidence  in  him !  How  great  her  love ! 
It  was  of  her  love  that  he  thought,  not  of  his 
own;  but  with  a  new  realization  of  her  depend- 
ence upon  him  for  happiness,  his  clasp  tightened 
about  her  almost  unconsciously.  She  stirred 
slightly,  and,  bending  his  head  lower,  Clayton 
whispered  in  her  ear: 

"  Have  you  been  asleep,  dear?  " 

She  lifted  her  face  and  looked  tenderly  into 
his  eyes,  shaking  her  head  slowly,  and  then,  as 
he  bent  over  again,  she  clasped  her  arms  about 
his  neck  and  strained  his  face  to  hers. 

Not  until  the  opening  of  the  door  at  the  stair- 
way stirred  them  did  they  notice  that  the  music 
and  dancing  below  had  ceased.  The  door  was 
instantly  closed  again  after  a  slight  sound  of 
scuffling,  and  in  the  moment  of  stillness  that 
followed,  they  heard  Raines  say  calmly : 

"  No;  you  can't  go  up  thar." 

A  brutal  oath  answered  him,  and  Easter 
started  to  her  feet  when  she  heard  her  father's 
voice,  terrible  with  passion;  but  Clayton  held 
her  back,  and  hurried  down  the  stairway. 

"  Ef  ye  don't  come  away  from  that  door," 
he  could  hear  Hicks  saying,  "  'n'  stop  this  med- 
dlin',  I'll  kill  you  'stid  o'  the  furriner." 

As  Clayton  thrust  the  door  open,  Raines  was 
standing  a  few  feet  from  the  stairway.  The 

112 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJEOPA 

drunken  man  was  struggling  in  the  grasp  of 
several  mountaineers,  who  were  coaxing  and 
dragging  him  across  the  room.  About  them 
were  several  other  men  scarcely  able  to  stand, 
and  behind  these  a  crowd  of  shrinking  women. 

"  Git  back!  git  back!  "  said  Raines,  in  low, 
hurried  tones. 

But  Hicks  had  caught  sight  of  Clayton.  For 
a  moment  he  stood  still,  glaring  at  him.  Then, 
with  a  furious  effort,  he  wrenched  himself  from 
the  men  who  held  him,  and  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  pocket,  backing  against  the  wall.  The  crowd 
fell  away  from  him  as  a  weapon  was  drawn  and 
levelled  with  unsteady  hand  at  Clayton.  Raines 
sprang  forward;  Clayton  felt  his  arm  clutched, 
and  a  figure  darted  past  him.  The  flash  came, 
and  when  Raines  wrenched  the  weapon  from  the 
mountaineer's  grasp  the  latter  was  standing 
rigid,  with  horror-stricken  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
smoke,  in  which  Easter's  white  face  showed  like 
an  apparition.  As  the  smoke  drifted  aside, 
the  girl  was  seen  with  both  hands  at  her 
breast.  Then,  while  a  silent  terror  held  every 
one,  she  turned,  and,  with  outstretched  hands, 
tottered  toward  Clayton;  and  as  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms,  a  low  moan  broke  from  her 
lips. 

Some  one  hurried  away  for  a  physician,  but 
the  death-watch  was  over  before  he  came. 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUKOPA 

For  a  long  time  the  wounded  girl  lay  appar- 
ently unconscious,  her  face  white  and  quiet. 
Only  when  a  wood-thrush  called  from  the  woods 
close  by  were  her  lids  half  raised,  and  as  Clay- 
ton pushed  the  shutter  open  above  her  and  lifted 
her  gently,  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a  grate- 
ful look  and  turned  her  face  eagerly  to  the 
cool  air. 

The  dawn  was  breaking.  The  east  was  al- 
ready aflame  with  bars  of  rosy  light,  gradually 
widening.  Above  them  a  single  star  was  poised, 
and  in  the  valley  below  great  white  mists  were 
stirring  from  sleep.  For  a  moment  she  seemed 
to  be  listlessly  watching  the  white,  shapeless 
things,  trembling  as  with  life,  and  creeping 
silently  into  wood  and  up  glen;  and  then  her 
lashes  drooped  wearily  together. 

The  door  opened  as  Clayton  let  her  sink  upon 
the  bed,  breathing  as  if  asleep,  and  he  turned, 
expecting  the  physician.  Raines,  too,  rose 
eagerly,  stopped  suddenly,  and  shrank  back  with 
a  shudder  of  repulsion  as  the  figure  of  the 
wretched  father  crept,  half  crouching,  within. 

"Sherd!" 

The  girl's  tone  was  full  of  gentle  reproach, 
and  so  soft  that  it  reached  only  Clayton's  ears. 

"Sherd!" 

This  time  his  name  was  uttered  with  an  ap- 
peal ever  so  gentle. 

114 


A   MOUNTAIN   EUEOPA 

"  Pore  dad !  Pore  dad !  "  she  whispered. 
Her  clasp  tightened  suddenly  on  Clayton's 
hand,  and  her  eyes  were  held  to  his,  even  while 
the  light  in  them  was  going  out. 

A  week  later  two  men  left  the  cabin  at  dusk. 

Half-way  down  the  slope  they  came  to  one 
of  the  unspeakably  mournful  little  burying- 
grounds  wherein  the  mountain  people  rest  after 
their  narrow  lives.  It  was  unhedged,  uncared 
for,  and  a  few  crumbling  boards  for  headstones 
told  the  living  generation  where  the  dead  were 
at  rest.  For  a  moment  they  paused  to  look  at 
a  spot  under  a  great  beech  where  the  earth  had 
been  lately  disturbed. 

"  It  air  shorely  hard  to  see,"  said  one  in  a 
low,  slow  voice,  "  why  she  was  taken,  V  him 
left;  why  she  should  hev  to  give  her  life  fer  the 
life  he  took.  But  He  knows,  He  knows,"  the 
mountaineer  continued,  with  unfaltering  trust; 
and  then,  after  a  moment's  struggle  to  reconcile 
fact  with  faith :  "  The  Lord  took  whut  He 
keered  fer  most,  V  she  was  ready,  V  he 
wasn't." 

The  other  made  no  reply,  and  they  kept  on  in 
silence.  Upon  a  spur  of  the  mountain  beneath 
which  the  little  mining-town  had  sunk  to  quiet 
for  the  night  they  parted  with  a  hand-clasp. 
Not  till  then  was  the  silence  broken. 

"  Thar  seems  to  be  a  penalty  fer  lovm'  too 


A   MOUNTAIN   ETJKOPA 

much  down  hyar,"  said  one;  "  'n'  I  reckon,"  he 
added,  slowly,  "  that  both  of  us  hev  got  hit  to 
pay." 

Turning,  the  speaker  retraced  his  steps.    The 
other  kept  on  toward  the  lights  below. 


116 


A  CUMBERLAND  VENDETTA 


TO 

MINERVA 

AND 

ELIZABETH 


I 

THE  cave  had  been  their  hiding-place  as 
children;  it  was  a  secret  refuge  now 
against  hunger  or  darkness  when  they  were 
hunting  in  the  woods.  The  primitive  meal  was 
finished;  ashes  were  raked  over  the  red  coals; 
the  slice  of  bacon  and  the  little  bag  of  meal  were 
hung  high  against  the  rock  wall;  and  the  two 
stepped  from  the  cavern  into  a  thicket  of  rhodo- 
dendrons. 

Parting  the  bushes  toward  the  dim  light,  they 
stood  on  a  massive  shoulder  of  the  mountain, 
the  river  girding  it  far  below,  and  the  afternoon 
shadows  at  their  feet.  Both  carried  guns — the 
tall  mountaineer,  a  Winchester;  the  boy,  a  squir- 
rel rifle  longer  than  himself.  Climbing  about 
the  rocky  spur,  they  kept  the  same  level  over 
log  and  bowlder  and  through  bushy  ravine  to 
the  north.  In  half  an  hour,  they  ran  into  a  path 
that  led  up  home  from  the  river,  and  they 
stopped  to  rest  on  a  cliff  that  sank  in  a  solid 
black  wall  straight  under  them.  The  sharp  edge 
of  a  steep  corn-field  ran  near,  and,  stripped  of 
blade  and  tassel,  the  stalks  and  hooded  ears 
119 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

looked  in  the  coming  dusk  a  little  like  monks  afi 
prayer.  In  the  sunlight  across  the  river  the  corn 
stood  thin  and  frail.  Over  there  a  drought  was 
on  it;  and  when  drifting  thistle-plumes  marked 
the  noontide  of  the  year,  each  yellow  stalk  had 
withered  blades  and  an  empty  sheath.  Every- 
where a  look  of  vague  trouble  lay  upon  the  face 
of  the  mountains,  and  when  the  wind  blew,  the 
silver  of  the  leaves  showed  ashen.  Autumn  was 
at  hand. 

There  was  no  physical  sign  of  kinship  between 
the  two,  half-brothers  though  they  were.  The 
tall  one  was  dark;  the  boy,  a  foundling,  had 
flaxen  hair,  and  was  stunted  and  slender.  He 
was  a  dreamy-looking  little  fellow,  and  one  may 
easily  find  his  like  throughout  the  Cumberland 
— paler  than  his  fellows,  from  staying  much  in- 
doors, with  half-haunted  face,  and  eyes  that  are 
deeply  pathetic  when  not  cunning;  ignorantly 
credited  with  idiocy  and  uncanny  powers ;  treated 
with  much  forbearance,  some  awe,  and  a  little 
contempt;  and  suffered  to  do  his  pleasure — noth- 
ing, or  much  that  is  strange — without  comment. 

"  I  tell  ye,  Rome,"  he  said,  taking  up  the 
thread  of  talk  that  was  broken  at  the  cave, 
"  when  Uncle  Gabe  says  he's  afeard  thar's 
trouble  comin',  hit's  a-comin' ;  V  I  want  you  to 
git  me  a  Winchester.  I'm  a-gittin*  big  enough 
now.  I  kin  shoot  might'  nigh  as  good  as  you, 
1 20 


A    CUMBEELAND   VENDETTA 

V  whut  am  I  fit  fer  with  this  hyeh  old  pawpaw 
pop-gun?  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  fightin',  boy,  I've  told 
ye.  Y'u  air  too  little  'n'  puny,  'n'  I  want  ye  to 
stay  home  'n'  take  keer  o'  mam  'n'  the  cattle — 
ef  fightin'  does  come,  I  reckon  thar  won't  be 
much." 

"  Don't  ye?  "  cried  the  boy,  with  sharp  con- 
tempt— "  with  ole  Jas  Lewallen  a-devilin'  Uncle 
Rufe,  'n'  that  blackheaded  young  Jas  a-climbin' 
on  stumps  over  thar  'cross  the  river,  'n'  crowin' 
'n'  sayin'  out  open  in  Hazlan  that  ye  air  afeard 
o'  him?  Yes;  'n'  he  called  me  a  idgit."  The 
boy's  voice  broke  into  a  whimper  of  rage. 

"  Shet  up,  Isom!  Don't  you  go  gittin'  mad 
now.  You'll  be  sick  ag'in.  I'll  tend  to  him 
when  the  time  comes."  Rome  spoke  with  rough 
kindness,  but  ugly  lines  had  gathered  at  his 
mouth  and  forehead.  The  boy's  tears  came  and 
went  easily.  He  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes, 
and  looked  up  the  river.  Beyond  the  bend,  three 
huge  birds  rose  into  the  sunlight  and  floated  to- 
ward them.  Close  at  hand,  they  swerved  side- 
wise. 

"  They  hain't  buzzards,"  he  said,  standing 
up,  his  anger  gone;  "look  at  them  straight 
wings !  " 

Again  the  eagles  swerved,  and  two  shot  across 
the  river.  The  third  dropped  with  shut  wings 

121 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

to  the  bare  crest  of  a  gaunt  old  poplar  under 
them. 

"  Hit's  a  young  un,  Rome !  "  said  the  boy, 
excitedly.  "  He's  goin'  to  wait  thar  tell  the  old 
uns  come  back.  Gimme  that  gun!  " 

Catching  up  the  Winchester,  he  slipped  over 
the  ledge;  and  Rome  leaned  suddenly  forward, 
looking  down  at  the  river. 

A  group  of  horsemen  had  ridden  around  the 
bend,  and  were  coming  at  a  walk  down  the 
other  shore.  Every  man  carried  something 
across  his  saddle-bow.  There  was  a  gray  horse 
among  them  —  young  Jasper's  —  and  an  evil 
shadow  came  into  Rome's  face,  and  quickly 
passed.  Near  a  strip  of  woods  the  gray  turned 
up  the  mountain  from  the  party,  and  on  its  back 
he  saw  the  red  glint  of  a  woman's  dress.  With 
a  half-smile  he  watched  the  scarlet  figure  ride 
from  the  woods,  and  climb  slowly  up  through 
the  sunny  corn.  On  the  spur  above  and  full  in 
the  rich  yellow  light,  she  halted,  half  turning  in 
her  saddle.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  to  his  full 
height,  his  head  bare,  and  thrown  far  back  be- 
tween his  big  shoulders,  and,  still  as  statues,  the 
man  and  the  woman  looked  at  each  other  across 
the  gulf  of  darkening  air.  A  full  minute  the 
woman  sat  motionless,  then  rode  on.  At  the 
edge  of  the  woods  she  stopped  and  turned 
again. 

122 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

The  eagle  under  Rome  leaped  one  stroke  in 
the  air,  and  dropped  like  a  clod  into  the  sea  of 
leaves.  The  report  of  the  gun  and  a  faint  cry 
of  triumph  rose  from  below.  It  was  good 
marksmanship,  but  on  the  cliff  Rome  did  not 
heed  it.  Something  had  fluttered  in  the  air 
above  the  girl's  head,  and  he  laughed  aloud. 
She  was  waving  her  bonnet  at  him. 


123 


II 

JUST  where  young  Stetson  stood,  the  moun- 
tains racing  along  each  bank  of  the  Cum- 
berland had  sent  out  against  each  other,  by 
mutual  impulse,  two  great  spurs.  At  the 
river's  brink  they  stopped  sheer,  with  crests 
uplifted,  as  though  some  hand  at  the  last  mo- 
ment had  hurled  them  apart,  and  had  led 
the  water  through  the  breach  to  keep  them  at 
peace.  To-day  the  crags  looked  seamed  by 
thwarted  passion;  and,  sullen  with  firs,  they 
made  fit  symbols  of  the  human  hate  about  the 
base  of  each. 

When  the  feud  began,  no  one  knew.  Even 
the  original  cause  was  forgotten.  Both  fam- 
ilies had  come  as  friends  from  Virginia  long 
ago,  and  had  lived  as  enemies  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury. There  was  hostility  before  the  war,  but, 
until  then,  little  bloodshed.  Through  the  hatred 
of  change,  characteristic  of  the  mountaineer  the 
world  over,  the  Lewallens  were  for  the  Union. 
The  Stetsons  owned  a  few  slaves,  and  they 
fought  for  them.  Peace  found  both  still  neigh- 
bors and  worse  foes.  The  war  armed  them, 
124 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

and  brought  back  an  ancestral  contempt  for  hu- 
man life;  it  left  them  a  heritage  of  lawlessness 
that  for  mutual  protection  made  necessary  the 
very  means  used  by  their  feudal  forefathers; 
personal  hatred  supplanted  its  dead  issues,  and 
with  them  the  war  went  on.  The  Stetsons  had  a 
good  strain  of  Anglo-Saxon  blood,  and  owned 
valley-lands ;  the  Lewallens  kept  store  and  made 
"  moonshine  ";  so  kindred  and  debtors  and  kin- 
dred and  tenants  were  arrayed  with  one  or  the 
other  leader,  and  gradually  the  retainers  of  both 
settled  on  one  or  the  other  side  of  the  river.  In 
time  of  hostility  the  Cumberland  came  to  be 
the  boundary  between  life  and  death  for  the 
dwellers  on  each  shore.  It  was  feudalism  born 
again. 

Above  one  of  the  spurs  each  family  had  its 
home;  the  Stetsons,  under  the  seared  face  of 
Thunderstruck  Knob;  the  Lewallens,  just  be- 
neath the  wooded  rim  of  Wolf's  Head.  The 
eaves  and  chimney  of  each  cabin  were  faintly 
visible  from  the  porch  of  the  other.  The  first 
light  touched  the  house  of  the  Stetsons;  the 
last,  the  Lewallen  cabin.  So  there  were  times 
when  the  one  could  not  turn  to  the  sunrise  nor 
the  other  to  the  sunset  but  with  a  curse  in 
his  heart,  for  his  eye  must  fall  on  the  home  of 
his  enemy. 

For  years  there  had  been  peace.  The  death 
125 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

of  Rome  Stetson's  father  from  ambush,  and  the 
fight  in  the  court-house  square,  had  forced  it. 
After  that  fight  only  four  were  left — old  Jasper 
Lewallen  and  young  Jasper,  the  boy  Rome  and 
his  uncle,  Rufe  Stetson.  Then  Rufe  fled  to  the 
West,  and  the  Stetsons  were  helpless.  For 
three  years  no  word  was  heard  of  him,  but  the 
hatred  burned  in  the  heart  of  Rome's  mother, 
and  was  traced  deep  in  her  grim  old  face  while 
she  patiently  waited  the  day  of  retribution.  It 
smouldered,  too,  in  the  hearts  of  the  women  of 
both  clans  who  had  lost  husbands  or  sons  or 
lovers ;  and  the  friends  and  kin  of  each  had  little 
to  do  with  one  another,  and  met  and  passed 
with  watchful  eyes.  Indeed,  it  would  take  so 
little  to  turn  peace  to  war  that  the  wonder  was 
that  peace  had  lived  so  long.  Now  trouble  was 
at  hand.  Rufe  Stetson  had  come  back  at  last,  a 
few  months  since,  and  had  quietly  opened  store 
at  the  county-seat,  Hazlan — a  little  town  five 
miles  up  the  river,  where  Troubled  Fork  runs 
seething  into  the  Cumberland — a  point  of  neu- 
trality for  the  factions,  and  consequently  a  bat- 
tle-ground. Old  Jasper's  store  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  town,  and  the  old  man  had  never  been 
known  to  brook  competition.  He  had  driven 
three  men  from  Hazlan  during  the  last  term 
of  peace  for  this  offence,  and  everybody  knew 
that  the  fourth  must  leave  or  fight.  Already 
126 


A    CUMBEKLAND    VENDETTA 

Rufe  Stetson  had  been  warned  not  to  appear 
outside  his  door  after  dusk.  Once  or  twice  his 
wife  had  seen  skulking  shadows  under  the  trees 
across  the  road,  and  a  tremor  of  anticipation 
ran  along  both  banks  of  the  Cumberland. 


127 


Ill 

A  FORTNIGHT  later,  court  came.  Rome 
was  going  to  Hazlan,  and  the  feeble 
old  Stetson  mother  limped  across  the  porch  from 
the  kitchen,  trailing  a  Winchester  behind  her. 
Usually  he  went  unarmed,  but  he  took  the  gun 
now,  as  she  gave  it,  in  silence. 

The  boy  Isom  was  not  well,  and  Rome  had 
told  him  to  ride  the  horse.  But  the  lad  had 
gone  on  afoot  to  his  duties  at  old  Gabe  Bunch's 
mill,  and  Rome  himself  rode  down  Thunder- 
struck Knob  through  the  mist  and  dew  of  the 
early  morning.  The  sun  was  coming  up  over 
Virginia,  and  through  a  dip  in  Black  Mountain 
the  foot-hills  beyond  washed  in  blue  waves 
against  its  white  disk.  A  little  way  down  the 
mountain,  the  rays  shot  through  the  gap  upon 
him,  and,  lancing  the  mist  into  tatters,  and  light- 
ing the  dew-drops,  set  the  birds  singing.  Rome 
rode,  heedless  of  it  all,  under  primeval  oak  and 
poplar,  and  along  rain-clear  brooks  and  happy 
waterfalls,  shut  in  by  laurel  and  rhododendron, 
and  singing  past  mossy  stones  and  lacelike  ferns 
that  brushed  his  stirrup.  On  the  brow  of  every 
128 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

cliff  he  would  stop  to  look  over  the  trees  and  the 
river  to  the  other  shore,  where  the  gray  line  of  a 
path  ran  aslant  Wolf's  Head,  and  was  lost  in 
woods  above  and  below. 

At  the  river  he  rode  up-stream,  looking  still 
across  it.  Old  Gabe  Bunch  hallooed  to  him 
from  the  doorway  of  the  mill,  as  he  splashed 
through  the  creek,  and  Isom's  thin  face  peered 
through  a  breach  in  the  logs.  At  the  ford  be- 
yond, he  checked  his  horse  with  a  short  oath 
of  pleased  surprise.  Across  the  water,  a  scarlet 
dress  was  moving  slowly  past  a  brown  field  of 
corn.  The  figure  was  bonneted,  but  he  knew 
the  girl's  walk  .and  the  poise  of  her  head  that 
far  away.  Just  who  she  was,  however,  he  did 
not  know,  and  he  sat  irresolute.  He  had  seen 
her  first  a  month  since,  paddling  along  the  other 
shore,  erect,  and  with  bonnet  off  and  hair  down ; 
she  had  taken  the  Lewallen  path  up  the  moun- 
tain. Afterward,  he  saw  her  going  at  a  gallop 
on  young  Jasper's  gray  horse,  bareheaded  again, 
and  with  her  hair  loose  to  the  wind,  and  he 
knew  she  was  one  of  his  enemies.  He  thought 
her  the  girl  people  said  young  Jasper  was  going 
to  many,  and  he  had  watched  her  the  more 
closely.  From  the  canoe  she  seemed  never  to 
notice  him;  but  he  guessed,  from  the  quickened 
sweep  of  her  paddle,  that  she  knew  he  was  look- 
ing at  her,  and  once,  when  he  halted  on  his  way 
129 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

home  up  the  mountain,  she  half  turned  in  her 
saddle  and  looked  across  at  him.  This  hap- 
pened again,  and  then  she  waved  her  bonnet  at 
him.  It  was  bad  enough,  any  Stetson  seeking 
any  Lewallen  for  a  wife,  and  for  him  to  court 
young  Jasper's  sweetheart — it  was  a  thought  to 
laugh  at.  But  the  mischief  was  done.  The  ges- 
ture thrilled  him,  whether  it  meant  defiance  or 
good-will,  and  the  mere  deviltry  of  such  a  court- 
ship made  him  long  for  it  at  every  sight  of  her 
with  the  river  between  them.  At  once  he  began 
to  plan  how  he  should  get  near  her,  but,  through 
so.ne  freak,  she  had  paid  no  further  heed  to 
him.  He  saw  her  less  often — for  a  week,  in- 
deed, he  had  not  seen  her  at  all  till  this  day — 
and  the  forces  that  hindrance  generates  in  an 
imperious  nature  had  been  at  work  within  him. 
The  chance  now  was  one  of  gold,  and  with  his 
life  in  his  hand  he  turned  into  the  stream. 
Across,  he  could  see  something  white  on  her 
shoulder — an  empty  bag.  It  was  grinding-day, 
and  she  was  going  to  the  mill — the  Lewallen 
mill.  She  stopped  as  he  galloped  up,  and  turned, 
pushing  back  her  bonnet  with  one  hand;  and 
he  drew  rein.  But  the  friendly,  expectant  light 
in  her  face  kindled  to  such  a  blaze  of  anger  in 
her  eyes  that  he  struck  his  horse  violently,  as 
though  the  beast  had  stopped  of  its  own  accord, 
and,  cursing  himself,  kept  on.  A  little  farther, 
130 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

he  halted  again.  Three  horsemen,  armed  with 
Winchesters,  were  jogging  along  toward  town 
ahead  of  him,  and  he  wheeled  about  sharply. 
The  girl,  climbing  rapidly  toward  Steve  Bray- 
ton's  cabin,  was  out  of  the  way,  but  he  was  too 
late  to  reach  the  ford  again.  Down  the  road 
two  more  Lewallens  with  guns  were  in  sight, 
and  he  lashed  his  horse  into  the  stream  where 
the  water  was  deep.  Old  Gabe,  looking  from 
the  door  of  his  mill,  quit  laughing  to  himself; 
and  under  cover  of  the  woods,  the  girl  watched 
man  and  horse  fighting  the  tide.  Twice  young 
Stetson  turned  his  head.  But  his  enemies  ap- 
parently had  not  seen  him,  and  horse  and  rider 
scrambled  up  the  steep  bank  and  under  shelter 
of  the  trees.  The  girl  had  evidently  learned 
who  he  was.  Her  sudden  anger  was  significant, 
as  was  the  sight  of  the  Lewallens  going  armed 
to  court,  and  Rome  rode  on,  uneasy. 

When  he  reached  Troubled  Fork,  in  sight  of 
Hazlan,  he  threw  a  cartridge  into  place  and 
shifted  the  slide  to  see  that  it  was  ready  for  use. 
Passing  old  Jasper's  store  on  the  edge  of  the 
town,  he  saw  the  old  man's  bushy  head  through 
the  open  door,  and  Lewallens  and  Braytons 
crowded  out  on  the  steps  and  looked  after  him. 
All  were  armed.  Twenty  paces  farther  he  met 
young  Jasper  on  his  gray,  and  the  look  on  his 
enemy's  face  made  him  grip  his  rifle.  With  a 


flashing  cross-fire  from  eye  to  eye,  the  two 
passed,  each  with  his  thumb  on  the  hammer  of 
his  Winchester.  The  groups  on  the  court-house 
steps  stopped  talking  as  he  rode  by,  and  turned 
to  look  at  him.  He  saw  none  of  his  own  friends, 
and  he  went  on  at  a  gallop  to  Rufe  Stetson's 
store.  His  uncle  was  not  in  sight.  Steve  Mar- 
cum  and  old  Sam  Day  stood  in  the  porch,  and 
inside  a  woman  was  crying.  Several  Stetsons 
were  near,  and  all  with  grave  faces  gathered 
about  him. 

He  knew  what  the  matter  was  before  Steve 
spoke.  His  uncle  had  been  driven  from  town. 
A  last  warning  had  come  to  him  on  the  day  be- 
fore. The  hand  of  a  friend  was  in  the  caution, 
and  Rufe  rode  away  at  dusk.  That  night  his 
house  was  searched  by  men  masked  and  armed. 
The  Lewallens  were  in  town,  and  were  ready  to 
fight.  The  crisis  had  come. 


132 


IV 

BACK  at  the  mill  old  Gabe  was  troubled. 
Usually  he  sat  in  a  cane-bottomed  chair 
near  the  hopper,  whittling,  while  the  lad  tended 
the  mill,  and  took  pay  in  an  oaken  toll-dish 
smooth  with  the  use  of  half  a  century.  But  the 
incident  across  the  river  that  morning  had  made 
the  old  man  uneasy,  and  he  moved  restlessly 
from  his  chair  to  the  door,  and  back  again, 
while  the  boy  watched  him,  wondering  what  the 
matter  was,  but  asking  no  questions.  At  noon 
an  old  mountaineer  rode  by,  and  the  miller 
hailed  him. 

"  Any  news  in  town?  "  he  asked. 

"  Hain't  been  to  town.  Reckon  fightin'  's 
goin'  on  thar  from  whut  I  heerd."  The  care- 
less, high-pitched  answer  brought  the  boy  with 
wide  eyes  to  the  door. 

"  Whut  d'ye  hear?  "  asked  Gabe. 

"  Jes  heerd  fightin'  's  goin'  on !  " 

Then  every  man  who  came  for  his  meal 
brought  a  wild  rumor  from  town,  and  the  old 
miller  moved  his  chair  to  the  door,  and  sat  there 
whittling  fast,  and  looking  anxiously  toward 

133 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

Hazlan.  The  boy  was  in  a  fever  of  unrest,  and 
old  Gabe  could  hardly  keep  him  in  the  mill.  In 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  report  of  a 
rifle  came  down  the  river,  breaking  into  echoes 
against  the  cliffs  below,  and  Isom  ran  out  the 
door,  and  stood  listening  for  another,  with  an 
odd  contradiction  of  fear  and  delight  on  his 
eager  face.  In  a  few  moments  Rome  Stetson 
galloped  into  sight,  and,  with  a  shrill  cry  of  re- 
lief, the  boy  ran  down  the  road  to  meet  him,  and 
ran  back,  holding  by  a  stirrup.  Young  Stetson's 
face  was  black  with  passion,  and  his  eyes  were 
heavy  with  drink.  At  the  door  of  the  mill  he 
swung  from  his  horse,  and  for  a  moment  was 
hardly  able  to  speak  from  rage.  There  had  been 
no  fight.  The  Stetsons  were  few  and  unpre- 
pared. They  had  neither  the  guns  nor,  without 
Rufe,  the  means  to  open  the  war,  and  they  be- 
lieved Rufe  had  gone  for  arms.  So  they  had 
chafed  in  the  store  all  day,  and  all  day  Lewallens 
on  horseback  and  on  foot  were  in  sight;  and 
each  was  a  taunt  to  every  Stetson,  and,  few  as 
they  were,  the  young  and  hot-headed  wanted  to 
go  out  and  fight.  In  the  afternoon  a  tale-bearer 
had  brought  some  of  Jasper's  boasts  to  Rome, 
and,  made  reckless  by  moonshine  and  much 
brooding,  he  sprang  up  to  lead  them.  Steve 
Marcum,  too,  caught  up  his  gun,  but  old  Sam's 
counsel  checked  him,  and  the  two  by  force  held 

134 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

Rome  back.  A  little  later  the  Lewallens  left 
town.  The  Stetsons,  too,  disbanded,  and  on 
the  way  home  a  last  drop  of  gall  ran  Rome's  cup 
of  bitterness  over.  Opposite  Steve  Brayton's 
cabin  a  jet  of  smoke  puffed  from  the  bushes 
across  the  river,  and  a  bullet  furrowed  the  road 
in  front  of  him.  That  was  the  shot  they  had 
heard  at  the  mill.  Somebody  was  drawing  a 
"  dead-line,"  and  Rome  wheeled  his  horse  at 
the  brink  of  it.  A  mocking  yell  came  over  the 
river,  and  a  gray  horse  flashed  past  an  open 
space  in  the  bushes.  Rome  knew  the  horse  and 
knew  the  yell;  young  Jasper  was  "bantering" 
him.  Nothing  maddens  the  mountaineer  like 
this  childish  method  of  insult;  and  telling  of  it, 
Rome  sat  in  a  corner,  and  loosed  a  torrent  of 
curses  against  young  Lewallen  and  his  clan. 

Old  Gabe  had  listened  without  a  word,  and 
the  strain  in  his  face  was  eased.  Always  the 
old  man  had  stood  for  peace.  He  believed  it 
had  come  after  the  court-house  fight,  and  he  had 
hoped  against  hope,  even  when  Rufe  came  back 
to  trade  against  old  Jasper;  for  Rufe  was  big 
and  good-natured,  and  unsuspected  of  resolute 
purpose,  and  the  Lewallens'  power  had  weak- 
ened. So,  now  that  Rufe  was  gone  again,  the 
old  miller  half  believed  he  was  gone  for  good. 
Nobody  was  hurt;  there  was  a  chance  yet  for 
peace,  and  with  a  rebuke  on  his  tongue  and  re- 
135 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

lief  in  his  face,  the  old  man  sat  back  in  his  chair 
and  went  on  whittling.  The  boy  turned  eagerly 
to  a  crevice  in  the  logs  and,  trembling  with  ex- 
citement, searched  the  other  bank  for  Jasper's 
gray  horse,  going  home. 

"  He  called  me  a  idgit,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  threatening  shake  of  his  head.  "  Jes 
wouldn't  /  like  to  hev  a  chance  at  him !  Rome 
ull  git  him !  Rome  ull  git  him !  " 

There  was  no  moving  point  of  white  on  the 
broad  face  of  the  mountains  nor  along  the  river 
road.  Jasper  was  yet  to  come  and,  with  ears 
alert  to  every  word  behind  him,  the  lad  fixed 
his  eyes  where  he  should  see  him  first. 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  mean  to  hit  me.  Not  that  he 
ain't  mean  enough  to  shoot  from  the  bresh," 
Rome  broke  out  savagely.  l  That's  jes  whut 
I'm  afeard  he  will  do.  Thar  .was  too  much 
daylight  fer  him.  Ef  he  jes  don't  come 
a-sneakin'  over  hyeh,  V  waitin'  in  the  lorrel 
atter  dark  fer  me,  it's  all  I  axe." 

"  Waitin'  in  the  lorrel!  "  Old  Gabe  could 
hold  back  no  longer.  "  Hit's  a  shame,  a  burn- 
in'  shame !  I  don'  know  whut  things  air  comin* 
to !  'Pears  like  all  you  young  folks  think  about 
is  killin'  somebody.  Folks  usen  to  talk  about 
how  fer  they  could  kill  a  deer;  now  it's  how  fer 
they  kin  kill  a  man.  I  hev  knowed  the  time 
when  a  man  would  'a'  been  druv  out  o'  the 
136 


A    CTJMBEKLAND    VENDETTA 

county  fer  drawin'  a  knife  ur  a  pistol;  'n'  ef  a 
feller  was  ever  killed,  it  was  kinder  acciden- 
tal, by  a  Barlow.  I  reckon  folks  got  use'  to 
weepons  'n'  killin'  'n'  bushwhackin'  in  the  war. 
Looks  like  it's  been  gittin'  wuss  ever  sence,  'n' 
now  hit's  dirk  'n'  Winchester,  'n'  shootin'  from 
the  bushes  all  the  time.  Hit's  wuss  'n  stealin1 
money  to  take  a  feller-creetur's  life  that  way !  " 

The  old  miller's  indignation  sprang  from 
memories  of  a  better  youth.  For  the  courtesies 
of  the  code  went  on  to  the  Blue  Grass,  and  be- 
fore the  war  the  mountaineer  fought  with  Eng- 
lish fairness  and  his  fists.  It  was  a  disgrace  to 
use  a  deadly  weapon  in  those  days ;  it  was  a  dis- 
grace now  not  to  use  it. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  the  excuses  folks  make,"  he 
went  on:  "  hit's  fa'r  fer  one  as  'tis  fer  t'other; 
y'u  can't  fight  a  man  fa'r  'n'  squar'  who'll  shoot 
you  in  the  back;  a  pore  man  can't  fight  money 
in  the  couhts;  'n'  thar  hain't  no  witnesses  in  the 
lorrel  but  leaves;  'n'  dead  men  don't  hev  much 
to  say.  I  know  it  all.  Hit's  cur'us,  but  it  act'- 
ally  looks  like  lots  o'  decent  young  folks  hev  got 
usen  to  the  idee — thar's  so  much  of  it  goin'  on, 
'n'  thar's  so  much  talk  'bout  killin'  'n'  layin' 
out  in  the  lorrel.  Reckon  folks  '11  git  to  pes- 
terin'  women  'n'  strangers  bimeby,  'n'  robbin' 
'n'  thievin'.  Hit's  bad  enough  thar's  so  leetle 
law  thet  folks  hev  to  take  it  in  their  own  hand* 
137 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

oncet  in  a  while,  but  this  shootin'  from  the 
bresh — hit's  p'int'ly  a  sin  'n'  shame!  Why," 
he  concluded,  pointing  his  remonstrance  as  he 
always  did,  "  I  seed  your  grandad  and  young 
Jas's  fight  up  thar  in  Hazlan  full  two  hours 
'fore  the  war — fist  and  skull — 'n'  your  grandad 
was  whooped.  They  got  up  and  shuk  hands. 
I  don't  see  why  folks  can't  fight  that  way  now. 
I  wish  Rufe  'n'  old  Jas  'n'  you  'n'  young  Jas 
could  have  it  out  fist  and  skull,  'n'  stop  this 
killin'  o'  people  like  hogs.  Thar's  nobody  left 
but  you  four.  But  thar's  no  chance  o'  that,  I 
reckon." 

"  I'll  fight  him  anyway,  'n'  I  reckon  ef  he 
don't  die  till  /  lay  out  in  the  lorrel  fer  him, 
he'll  live  a  long  time.  Ef  a  Stetson  ever  done 
sech  meanness  as  that  I  never  heerd  it." 

"  Nother  hev  I,"  said  the  old  man,  with  quick 
justice.  "  You  air  a  over-bearin'  race,  all  o' 
ye,  but  I  never  knowed  ye  to  be  that  mean. 
Hit's  all  the  wus  fer  ye  thet  ye  air  in  sech  doin's. 
I  tell  ye,  Rome " 

A  faint  cry  rose  above  the  drone  of  the  mill- 
stones, and  old  Gabe  stopped  with  open  lips  to 
listen.  The  boy's  face  was  pressed  close  to  the 
logs.  A  wet  paddle  had  flashed  into  the  sun- 
light from  out  the  bushes  across  the  river.  He 
could  just  see  a  canoe  in  the  shadows  under  them, 
and  with  quick  suspicion  his  brain  pictured  Jas- 
138 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

per's  horse  hitched  in  the  bushes,  and  Jasper 
stealing  across  the  river  to  waylay  Rome.  But 
the  canoe  moved  slowly  out  of  sight  down- 
stream and  toward  the  deep  water,  the  paddler 
unseen,  and  the  boy  looked  around  with  a  weak 
smile.  Neither  seemed  to  have  heard  him. 
Rome  was  brooding,  with  his  sullen  face  in  his 
hands;  the  old  miller  was  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts ;  and  the  boy  turned  again  to  his  watch. 

Jasper  did  not  come.  Isom's  eyes  began  to 
ache  from  the  steady  gaze,  and  now  and  then 
he  would  drop  them  to  the  water  swirling  be- 
neath. A  slow  wind  swayed  the  overhanging 
branches  at  the  mouth  of  the  stream,  and  under 
them  was  an  eddy.  Escaping  this,  the  froth  and 
bubbles  raced  out  to  the  gleams  beating  the  air 
from  the  sunlit  river.  He  saw  one  tiny  fleet 
caught;  a  mass  of  yellow  scum  bore  down  and, 
sweeping  through  bubbles  and  eddy,  was  itself 
struck  into  fragments  by  something  afloat.  A 
tremulous  shadow  shot  through  a  space  of  sun- 
light into  the  gloom  cast  by  a  thicket  of  rhodo- 
dendrons, and  the  boy  caught  his  breath  sharply. 
A  moment  more,  and  the  shape  of  a  boat  and  a 
human  figure  quivered  on  the  water  running 
under  him.  The  stern  of  a  Lewallen  canoe 
swung  into  the  basin,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Rome !  "     The  cry  cut  sharply  through  the 
drowsy  air.     "  Thar  he  is  I     Hit's  Jas !  " 
139 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

The  old  miller  rose  to  his  feet.  The  boy 
threw  himself  behind  the  sacks  of  grain.  Rome 
wheeled  for  his  rifle,  and  stood  rigid  before  the 
door.  There  was  a  light  step  without,  the  click 
of  a  gun-lock  within;  a  shadow  fell  across  the 
doorway,  and  a  girl  stood  at  the  threshold  with 
an  empty  bag  in  her  hand. 


140 


WITH  a  little  cry  she  shrank  back  a  step. 
Her  face  paled  and  her  lips  trembled, 
and  for  a  moment  she  could  not  speak.     But  her 
eyes  swept  the  group,  and  were  fixed  in  two 
points  of  fire  on  Rome. 

"  Why  don't  ye  shoot !  "  she  asked,  scornfully. 
"  I  hev  heerd  that  the  Stetsons  have  got  to  mak- 
in'  war  on  women-folks,  but  I  never  believed  it 
afore."  Then  she  turned  to  the  miller. 

"Kin  I  git  some  more  meal  hyeh? "  she 
asked.  "  Or  have  ye  stopped  sellin'  to  folks  on 
t'other  side?  "  she  added,  in  a  tone  that  sought 
no  favor. 

1  You  kin  have  all  ye  want,"  said  old  Gabe, 
quietly. 

'  The  mill  on  Dead  Crick  is  broke  ag'in," 
she  continued,  "  'n'  co'n  is  skeerce  on  our  side. 
We'll  have  to  begin  buyin'  purty  soon,  so  I 
thought  I'd  save  totin'  the  co'n  down  hyeh." 
She  handed  old  Gabe  the  empty  bag. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  as  it  air  gittin'  late,  'n' 
ye  have  to  climb  the  mountain  ag'in,  I'll  let  ye 
have  that  comin'  out  o'  the  hopper  now.  Take 
a  cheer." 

141 


A    CUMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

The  girl  sat  down  in  the  low  chair,  and,  loos- 
ening the  strings  of  her  bonnet,  pushed  it  back 
from  her  head.  An  old-fashioned  horn  comb 
dropped  to  the  floor,  and  when  she  stooped  to 
pick  it  up  she  let  her  hair  fall  in  a  heap  about 
her  shoulders.  Thrusting  one  hand  under  it, 
she  calmly  tossed  the  whole  mass  of  chestnut 
and  gold  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  where  it  fell 
rippling  like  water  through  a  bar  of  sunlight. 
With  head  thrown  back  and  throat  bared,  she 
shook  it  from  side  to  side,  and,  slowly  coiling  it, 
pierced  it  with  the  coarse  comb.  Then  passing 
her  hands  across  her  forehead  and  temples,  as 
women  do,  she  folded  them  in  her  lap,  and  sat 
motionless.  The  boy,  crouched  near,  held  upon 
her  the  mesmeric  look  of  a  serpent.  Old  Gabe 
was  peering  covertly  from  under  the  brim  of  his 
hat,  with  a  chuckle  at  his  lips.  Rome  had 
fallen  back  to  a  corner  of  the  mill,  sobered, 
speechless,  his  rifle  in  a  nerveless  hand.  The 
passion  that  fired  him  at  the  boy's  warning  had 
as  swiftly  gone  down  at  sight  of  the  girl,  and  her 
cutting  rebuke  made  him  hot  again  with  shame. 
He  was  angry,  too — more  than  angry — because 
he  felt  so  helpless,  a  sensation  that  was  new  and 
stifling.  The  scorn  of  her  face,  as  he  remem- 
bered it  that  morning,  hurt  him  again  while  he 
looked  at  her.  A  spirit  of  contempt  was  still 
in  her  eyes,  and  quivering  about  her  thin  lips 
142 


"'Why  don't  ye  shoot  ?'» 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

and  nostrils.  She  had  put  him  beneath  further 
notice,  and  yet  every  toss  of  her  head,  every 
movement  of  her  hands,  seemed  meant  for  him, 
to  irritate  him.  And  once,  while  she  combed 
her  hair,  his  brain  whirled  with  an  impulse  to 
catch  the  shining  stuff  in  one  hand  and  to  pinion 
both  her  wrists  with  the  other,  just  to  show  her 
that  he  was  master,  and  still  would  harm  her 
not  at  all.  But  he  shut  his  teeth,  and  watched 
her.  Among  mountain  women  the  girl  was 
more  than  pretty;  elsewhere  only  her  hair,  per- 
haps, would  have  caught  the  casual  eye.  She 
wore  red  homespun  and  coarse  shoes ;  her  hands 
were  brown  and  hardened.  Her  arms  and 
shoulders  looked  muscular,  her  waist  was  rather 
large — being  as  nature  meant  it — and  her  face 
in  repose  had  a  heavy  look.  But  the  poise  of 
her  head  suggested  native  pride  and  dignity;  her 
eyes  were  deep,  and  full  of  changing  lights;  the 
scarlet  dress,  loose  as  it  was,  showed  rich  curves 
in  her  figure,  and  her  movements  had  a  certain 
childlike  grace.  Her  brow  was  low,  and  her 
mouth  had  character;  the  chin  was  firm,  the 
upper  lip  short,  and  the  teeth  were  even  and 
white. 

"  I   reckon  thar's   enough   to   fill   the   sack, 
Isom,"  said  the  old  miller,  breaking  the  strained 
silence  of  the  group.     The  girl  rose  and  handed 
him  a  few  pieces  of  silver. 
143 


A    CUMBEKLAND    VENDETTA 

"  I  reckon  I'd  better  pay  fer  it  all,"  she  said. 
"  I  s'pose  I  won't  be  over  hyeh  ag'in." 

Old  Gabe  gave  some  of  the  coins  back. 

'  Y'u  know  whut  my  price  al'ays  is,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  obleeged,"  answered  the  girl,  flushing. 
"  Co'n  hev  riz  on  our  side.  I  thought  mebbe 
you  charged  folks  over  thar  more,  anyways." 

"  I  sells  fer  the  same,  ef  co'n  is  high  ur  low," 
was  the  answer.  "  This  side  or  t'other  makes 
no  diff'unce  to  me.  I  hev  frien's  on  both  sides, 
'n'  I  take  no  part  in  sech  doin's  as  air  a  shame 
to  the  mountains." 

There  was  a  quick  light  of  protest  in  the  girl's 
dark  eyes;  but  the  old  miller  was  honored  by 
both  factions,  and  without  a  word  she  turned 
to  the  boy,  who  was  tying  the  sack. 

"  The  boat's  loose !  "  he  called  out,  with  the 
string  between  his  teeth;  and  she  turned  again 
and  ran  out.  Rome  stood  still. 

"  Kerry  the  sack  out,  boy,  'n'  holp  the  gal." 
Old  Gabe's  voice  was  stern,  and  the  young 
mountaineer  doggedly  swung  the  bag  to  his 
shoulders.  The  girl  had  caught  the  rope,  and 
drawn  the  rude  dugout  along  the  shore. 

"Who  axed  ye  to  do  that?  "  she  asked,  an- 
grily. 

Rome  dropped  the  bag  into  the  boat,  and 
merely  looked  her  in  the  face. 

"  Look  hyeh,  Rome  Stetson" — the  sound  of 
144 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

his  name  from  her  lips  almost  startled  him — 
"  I'll  hev  ye  understan'  that  I  don't  want  to  be 
bounden  to  you,  nor  none  o'  yer  kin." 

Turning,  she  gave  an  impatient  sweep  with 
her  paddle.  The  prow  of  the  canoe  dipped  and 
was  motionless.  Rome  had  caught  the  stern, 
and  the  girl  wheeled  in  hot  anger.  Her  impulse 
to  strike  may  have  been  for  the  moment  and  no 
longer,  or  she  may  have  read  swiftly  no  unkind- 
ness  in  the  mountaineer's  steady  look;  for  the 
uplifted  oar  was  stayed  in  the  air,  as  though  at 
least  she  would  hear  him. 

"  I've  got  nothin'  ag'in'  you,"  he  said,  slowly, 
'  Jas  Lewallen  hev  been  threatenin'  me,  V  I 
thought  it  was  him,  V  I  was  ready  fer  him, 
when  you  come  into  the  mill.  I  wouldn't  hurt 
you  nur  no  other  woman.  Y'u  ought  to  know 
it,  V  ye  do  know  it." 

The  words  were  masterful,  but  said  in  a  way 
that  vaguely  soothed  the  girl's  pride,  and  the 
oar  was  let  slowly  into  the  water. 

"  I  reckon  y'u  air  a  friend  o'  his,"  he  added, 
still  quietly.  "  I've  seed  ye  goin'  up  thar,  but 
I've  got  nothin'  ag'in'  ye,  whoever  ye  be." 

She  turned  on  him  a  sharp  look  of  suspicion. 
"  I  reckon  I  do  be  a  friend  o'  hisn,"  she  said, 
deliberately;  and  then  she  saw  that  he  was  in 
earnest.  A  queer  little  smile  went  like  a  ray 
of  light  from  her  eyes  to  her  lips,  and  she  gave 
145 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

a  quick  stroke  with  her  paddle.  The  boat  shot 
into  the  current,  and  was  carried  swiftly  toward 
the  Cumberland.  The  girl  stood  erect,  sway- 
ing through  light  and  shadow  like  a  great  scar- 
let flower  blowing  in  the  wind;  and  Rome 
watched  her  till  she  touched  the  other  bank. 
Swinging  the  sack  out,  she  stepped  lightly  after 
it,  and,  without  looking  behind  her,  disappeared 
in  the  bushes. 

The  boy  Isom  was  riding  away  when  Rome, 
turned,  and  old  Gabe  was  watching  from  the 
door  of  the  mill. 

"Who  is  that  gal?"  he  asked,  slowly.  It 
seemed  somehow  that  he  had  known  her  a  long 
while  ago.  A  puzzled  frown  overlay  his  face, 
and  the  old  miller  laughed. 

"  You  a-axin'  who  she  be,  'n'  she  a-axin  who 
you  be,  'n'  both  o'  ye  a-knowin'  one  'nother  sence 
ye  was  knee-high.  Why,  boy,  hit's  old  Jasper's 
gal — Marthyl  " 


146 


VI 

IN  a  flash  of  memory  Rome  saw  the  girl  as 
vividly  as  when  he  last  saw  her  years  ago. 
They  had  met  at  the  mill,  he  with  his  father, 
she  with  hers.  There  was  a  quarrel,  and  the 
two  men  were  held  apart.  But  the  old  sore  as 
usual  was  opened,  and  a  week  later  Rome's 
father  was  killed  from  the  brush.  He  remem- 
bered his  mother's  rage  and  grief,  her  calls  for 
vengeance,  the  uprising,  the  fights,  plots,  and 
ambushes.  He  remembered  the  look  the  girl 
had  given  him  that  long  ago,  and  her  look  that 
day  was  little  changed. 

When  fighting  began,  she  had  been  sent  for 
safety  to  the  sister  of  her  dead  mother  in  an- 
other county.  When  peace  came,  old  Jasper 
married  again  and  the  girl  refused  to  come 
home.  Lately  the  step-mother,  too,  had  passed 
away,  and  then  she  came  back  to  live.  All  this 
the  old  miller  told  in  answer  to  Rome's  ques- 
tions as  the  two  walked  away  in  the  twilight. 
This  was  why  he  had  not  recognized  her,  and 
why  her  face  yet  seemed  familiar  even  when 
he  crossed  the  river  that  morning. 
147 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

"  Uncle  Gabe,  how  do  you  reckon  the  gal 
knowed  who  I  was?  " 

"  She  axed  me." 

"She  axed  you!     Whar?  " 

"  Over  thar  in  the  mill."  The  miller  was 
watching  the  young  mountaineer  closely.  The 
manner  of  the  girl  was  significant  when  she 
asked  who  Rome  was,  and  the  miller  knew  but 
one  reason  possible  for  his  foolhardiness  that 
morning. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  she  have  been  over 
hyeh  afore?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  come  to  think  about  it,  three 
or  four  times  while  Isom  was  sick,  and  whut 
she  come  fer  I  can't  make  out.  The  mill  over 
thar  wasn't  broke  long,  'n'  why  she  didn't  go 
thar  or  bring  more  co'n  at  a  time,  to  save  her 
the  trouble  o'  so  many  trips,  I  can't  see  to  save 
me." 

Young  Stetson  was  listening  eagerly.  Again 
the  miller  cast  his  bait. 

"  Mebbe  she's  spyin'." 

Rome  faced  him,  alert  with  suspicion;  but 
old  Gabe  was  laughing  silently. 

"  Don't  you  be  a  fool,  Rome.  The  gal  comes 
and  goes  in  that  boat,  'n'  she  couldn't  see  a  soul 
without  my  knowin'  it.  She  seed  ye  ridin'  by 
one  day,  'n'  she  looked  mighty  cur'us  when  I 
tole  her  who  ye  was." 

148 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

Old  Gabe  stopped  his  teasing,  Rome's  face 
was  so  troubled,  and  himself  grew  serious. 

"  Rome,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  I  wish  to  the 
good  Lord  ye  wasn't  in  sech  doin's.  Ef  that 
had  been  young  Jas  'stid  o'  Marthy,  I  reckon 
ye  would  'a'  killed  him  right  thar." 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  let  him  kill  me,"  was  the 
sullen  answer. 

The  two  had  stopped  at  a  rickety  gate  swing- 
ing open  on  the  road.  The  young  mountaineer 
was  pushing  a  stone  about  with  the  toe  of  his 
boot.  He  had  never  before  listened  to  remon- 
strance with  such  patience,  and  old  Gabe  grew 
bold. 

'  You've  been  drinkin'  ag'in,  Rome,"  he  said, 
sharply,  "  V  I  know  it.  Hit's  been  moonshine 
that's  whooped  you  Stetsons,  not  the  Lewallens, 
long  as  I  kin  rickollect,  V  it  ull  be  moonshine 
ag'in  ef  ye  don't  let  it  alone." 

Rome  made  no  denial,  no  defence.  "  Uncle 
Gabe,"  he  said  slowly,  still  busied  with  the 
stone,  "  hev  that  gal  been  over  hyeh  sence  y'u 
tol'  her  who  I  was?  " 

The  old  man  was  waiting  for  the  pledge  that 
seemed  on  his  lips,  but  he  did  not  lose  his 
temper. 

"  Not  till  to-day,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Rome  turned  abruptly,  and  the  two  separated 
with  no  word  of  parting.  For  a  moment  the 
149 


miller  watched  the  young  fellow  striding  away 
under  his  rifle. 

"  I  have  been  atter  peace  a  good  while,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  but  I  reckon  thar's  a  bigger 
hand  a-workin'  now  than  mine."  Then  he  lifted 
his  voice.  "  Ef  Isom's  too  sick  to  come  down 
to  the  mill  to-morrer,  I  wish  you'd  come  V  holp 
me." 

Rome  nodded  back  over  his  shoulder,  and 
went  on,  with  head  bent,  along  the  river  road. 
Passing  a  clump  of  pines  at  the  next  curve,  he 
pulled  a  bottle  from  his  pocket. 

"  Uncle  Gabe's  about  right,  I  reckon,"  he 
said,  half  aloud ;  and  he  raised  it  above  his  head 
to  hurl  it  away,  but  checked  it  in  mid-air.  For 
a  moment  he  looked  at  the  colorless  liquid,  then, 
with  quick  nervousness,  pulled  the  cork  of  sassa- 
fras leaves,  gulped  down  the  pale  moonshine,  and 
dashed  the  bottle  against  the  trunk  of  a  beech. 
The  fiery  stuff  does  its  work  in  a  hurry.  He 
was  thirsty  when  he  reached  the  mouth  of  a 
brook  that  tumbled  down  the  mountain  along 
the  pathway  that  would  lead  him  home,  and  he 
stooped  to  drink  where  the  water  sparkled  in  a 
rift  of  dim  light  from  overhead.  Then  he  sat 
upright  on  a  stone,  with  his  wide  hat-brim  curved 
in  a  crescent  over  his  forehead,  his  hands  caught 
about  his  knees,  and  his  eyes  on  the  empty  air. 

He  was  scarcely  over  his  surprise  that  the  girl 
150 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

was  young  Lewallen's  sister,  and  the  discovery- 
had  wrought  a  curious  change.  The  piquant 
impulse  of  rivalry  was  gone,  and  something 
deeper  was  taking  its  place.  He  was  confused 
and  a  good  deal  troubled,  thinking  it  all  over. 
He  tried  to  make  out  what  the  girl  meant  by 
looking  at  him  from  the  mountain-side,  by  wav- 
ing her  bonnet  at  him,  and  by  coming  to  old 
Gabe's  mill  when  she  could  have  gone  to  her 
own.  To  be  sure,  she  did  not  know  then  who 
he  was,  and  she  had  stopped  coming  when  she 
learned;  but  why  had  she  crossed  again  that 
day?  Perhaps  she  too  was  bantering  him,  and 
he  was  at  once  angry  and  drawn  to  her;  for  her 
mettlesome  spirit  touched  his  own  love  of  dar- 
ing, even  when  his  humiliation  was  most  bitter 
— when  she  told  him  he  warred  on  women; 
when  he  held  out  to  her  the  branch  of  peace 
and  she  swept  it  aside  with  a  stroke  of  her  oar. 
But  Rome  was  little  conscious  of  the  weight  of 
subtle  facts  like  these.  His  unseeing  eyes  went 
back  to  her  as  she  combed  her  hair.  He  saw  the 
color  in  her  cheeks,  the  quick  light  in  her  eyes, 
the  naked,  full  throat  once  more,  and  the  waver- 
ing forces  of  his  unsteady  brain  centred  in  a 
stubborn  resolution — to  see  it  all  again.  He 
would  make  Isom  stay  at  home,  if  need  be,  and 
he  would  take  the  boy's  place  at  the  mill.  If 
she  came  there  no  more,  he  would  cross  the  river 


A    CUMBEKLAKD    VENDETTA 

again.  Come  peace  or  war,  be  she  friend  or 
enemy,  he  would  see  her.  His  thirst  was  fierce 
again,  and,  with  this  half-drunken  determination 
in  his  heart,  he  stooped  once  more  to  drink  from 
the  cheerful  little  stream.  As  he  rose,  a  loud 
curse  smote  the  air.  The  river,  pressed  between 
two  projecting  cliffs,  was  narrow  at  that  point, 
and  the  oath  came  across  the  water.  An  instant 
later  a  man  led  a  lamed  horse  from  behind  a 
bowlder,  and  stooped  to  examine  its  leg.  The 
dusk  was  thickening,  but  Rome  knew  the  huge 
frame  and  gray  beard  of  old  Jasper  Lewallen. 
The  blood  beat  in  a  sudden  tide  at  his  temples, 
and,  half  by  instinct,  he  knelt  behind  a  rock, 
and,  thrusting  his  rifle  through  a  crevice,  cocked 
it  softly. 

Again  the  curse  of  impatience  came  over  the 
still  water,  and  old  Jasper  rose  and  turned  to- 
ward him.  The  glistening  sight  caught  in  the 
centre  of  his  beard.  That  would  take  him  in 
the  throat;  it  might  miss,  and  he  let  the  sight 
fall  till  the  bullet  would  cut  the  fringe  of  gray 
hair  into  the  heart.  Old  Jasper,  so  people  said, 
had  killed  his  father  in  just  this  way;  he  had 
driven  his  uncle  from  the  mountains;  he  was 
trying  now  to  revive  the  feud.  He  was  the 
father  of  young  Jasper,  who  had  threatened  his 
life,  and  the  father  of  the  girl  whose  contempt 
had  cut  him  to  the  quick  twice  that  day.  Again 
152 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

her  taunt  leaped  through  his  heated  brain,  and 
his  boast  to  the  old  miller  followed  it.  His 
finger  trembled  at  the  trigger. 

"  No ;  by ,  no !  "  he  breathed  between  his 

teeth;  and  old  Jasper  passed  on,  unharmed. 


VII 

NEXT  day  the  news  of  Rufe  Stetson's 
flight  went  down  the  river  on  the  wind, 
and  before  nightfall  the  spirit  of  murder  was 
loosed  on  both  shores  of  the  Cumberland.  The 
more  cautious  warned  old  Jasper.  The  Stet- 
sons were  gaining  strength  again,  they  said; 
so  were  their  feudsmen,  the  Marcums,  enemies 
of  the  Braytons,  old  Jasper's  kinspeople.  Keep- 
ing store,  Rufe  had  made  money  in  the  West, 
and  money  and  friends  right  and  left  through  the 
mountains.  With  all  his  good-nature,  he  was 
a  persistent  hater,  and  he  was  shrewd.  He 
had  waited  the  chance  to  put  himself  on  the 
side  of  the  law,  and  now  the  law  was  with  him. 
But  old  Jasper  laughed  contemptuously.  Rufe 
Stetson  was  gone  again,  he  said,  as  he  had  gone 
before,  and  this  time  for  good.  Rufe  had  tried 
to  do  what  nobody  had  done,  or  could  do,  while 
he  was  alive.  Anyway,  he  was  reckless,  and 
he  cared  little  if  war  did  come  again.  Still,  the 
old  man  prepared  for  a  fight,  and  Steve  Mar- 
cum  on  the  other  shore  made  ready  for  Rufe's 
return. 

It  was  like  the  breaking  of  peace  in  feudal 
154 


A    CTTMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

days.  The  close  kin  of  each  leader  were  al- 
ready about  him,  and  now  the  close  friends  of 
each  took  sides.  Each  leader  trading  in  Haz- 
lan  had  debtors  scattered  through  the  moun- 
tains, and  these  rallied  to  aid  the  man  who  had 
befriended  them.  There  was  no  grudge  but 
served  a  pretext  for  partisanship  in  the  coming 
war.  Political  rivalry  had  wedged  apart  two 
strong  families,  the  Marcums  and  Braytons;  a 
boundary  line  in  dispute  was  a  chain  of  bitter- 
ness; a  suit  in  a  country  court  had  sown  seeds 
of  hatred.  Sometimes  it  was  a  horse-trade,  a 
fence  left  down,  or  a  gate  left  open,  and  the 
trespassing  of  cattle;  in  one  instance,  through 
spite,  a  neighbor  had  docked  the  tail  of  a  neigh- 
bor's horse — had  "  muled  his  critter,"  as  the 
owner  phrased  the  outrage.  There  was  no  old 
sore  that  was  not  opened  by  the  crafty  leaders, 
no  slumbering  bitterness  that  they  did  not  wake 
to  life.  "  Help  us  to  revenge,  and  we  will  help 
you,"  was  the  whispered  promise.  So,  had  one 
man  a  grudge  against  another,  he  could  set  his 
foot  on  one  or  the  other  shore,  sure  that  his 
enemy  would  be  fighting  for  the  other. 

Others  there  were,  friends  of  neither  leader, 
who,  under  stress  of  poverty  or  hatred  of  work, 
would  fight  with  either  for  food  and  clothes; 
and  others  still,  the  ne'er-do-wells  and  outlaws, 
who  fought  by  the  day  or  month  for  hire.  Even 
155 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

these  were  secured  by  one  or  the  other  faction, 
for  Steve  and  old  Jasper  left  no  resource  un- 
tried, knowing  well  that  the  fight,  if  there  was 
one,  would  be  fought  to  a  quick  and  decisive 
end.  The  day  for  the  leisurely  feud,  for  patient 
planning,  and  the  slow  picking  off  of  men  from 
one  side  or  the  other,  was  gone.  The  people 
in  the  Blue  Grass,  who  had  no  feuds  in  their 
own  country,  were  trying  to  stop  them  in  the 
mountain.  Over  in  Breathitt,  as  everybody 
knew,  soldiers  had  come  from  the  "  settlemints," 
had  arrested  the  leaders,  and  had  taken  them  to 
the  Blue  Grass  for  the  feared  and  hated  ordeal 
of  trial  by  a  jury  of  "  bigoted  furriners."  On 
the  heels  of  the  soldiers  came  a  young  preacher 
up  from  the  Jellico  hills,  half  "  citizen,"  half 
"  furriner,"  with  long  black  hair  and  a  scar 
across  his  forehead,  who  was  stirring  up  the  peo- 
ple, it  was  said,  "  as  though  Satan  was  atter 
them."  Over  there  the  spirit  of  the  feud  was 
broken,  and  a  good  effect  was  already  percep- 
tible around  Hazlan.  In  past  days  every  pair 
of  lips  was  sealed  with  fear,  and  the  non-comba- 
tants left  crops  and  homes,  and  moved  down  the 
river,  when  trouble  began.  Now  only  the  timid 
considered  this  way  of  escape.  Steve  and  old 
Jasper  found  a  few  men  who  refused  to  enter 
the  fight.  Several,  indeed,  talked  openly  against 
the  renewal  of  the  feud,  and  somebody,  it  was 
156 


A   CTJMBEELAND   VENDETTA 

said,  had  dared  to  hint  that  he  would  send  to  the 
Governor  for  aid  if  it  should  break  out  again. 
But  these  were  rumors  touching  few  people. 

For  once  again,  as  time  and  time  again  before, 
one  bank  of  the  Cumberland  was  arrayed  with 
mortal  enmity  against  the  other,  and  old  Gabe 
sat,  with  shaken  faith,  in  the  door  of  his  mill. 
For  years  he  had  worked  and  prayed  for  peace, 
and  for  a  little  while  the  Almighty  seemed  lend- 
ing aid.  Now  the  friendly  grasp  was  loosen- 
ing, and  yet  the  miller  did  all  he  could.  He 
begged  Steve  Marcum  to  urge  Rufe  to  seek  aid 
from  the  law  when  the  latter  came  back;  and 
Steve  laughed,  and  asked  what  justice  was  pos- 
sible for  a  Stetson,  with  a  Lewallen  for  a  judge 
and  Braytons  for  a  jury.  The  miller  pleaded 
with  old  Jasper,  and  old  Jasper  pointed  to  the 
successes  of  his  own  life. 

"  I  hev  triumphed  ag'in'  my  enemies  time  'n* 
ag'in,"  he  said.  "  The  Lord  air  on  my  side,  V 
I  gits  a  better  Christian  ever'  year."  The  old 
man  spoke  with  the  sincerity  of  a  barbarism  that 
has  survived  the  dark  ages,  and,  holding  the 
same  faith,  the  miller  had  no  answer.  It  was 
old  Gabe  indeed  who  had  threatened  to  send  to 
the  Governor  for  soldiers,  and  this  he  would 
have  done,  perhaps,  had  there  not  been  one  hope 
left,  and  only  one.  A  week  had  gone,  and  there 
was  no  word  from  Rufe  Stetson.  Up  on 
157 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

Thunderstruck  Knob  the  old  Stetson  mother 
was  growing  pitiably  eager  and  restless.  Every 
day  she  slipped  like  a  ghost  through  the  leafless 
woods  and  in  and  out  the  cabin,  kindling  hatred. 
At  every  dawn  or  dusk  she  was  on  her  porch 
peering  through  the  dim  light  for  Rufe  Stetson. 
Steve  Marcum  was  ill  at  ease.  Rome  Stetson 
alone  seemed  unconcerned,  and  his  name  was 
on  every  gossiping  tongue. 

He  took  little  interest  and  no  hand  in  getting 
ready  for  the  war.  He  forbade  the  firing  of  a 
gun  till  Rufe  came  back,  else  Steve  should  fight 
his  fight  alone.  He  grew  sullen  and  morose. 
His  old  mother's  look  was  a  thorn  in  his  soul, 
and  he  stayed  little  at  home.  He  hung  about 
the  mill,  and  when  Isom  became  bedfast,  the 
big  mountaineer,  who  had  never  handled  any- 
thing but  a  horse,  a  plough,  or  a  rifle,  settled  him- 
self, to  the  bewilderment  of  the  Stetsons,  into 
the  boy's  duties,  and  nobody  dared  question  him. 
Even  old  Gabe  jested  no  longer.  The  matter 
was  too  serious. 

Meanwhile  the  winter  threw  off  the  last  slum- 
brous mood  of  autumn,  as  a  sleeper  starts  from 
a  dream.  A  fortnight  was  gone,  and  still  no 
message  came  from  the  absent  leader.  One 
shore  was  restive,  uneasy;  the  other  confident, 
mocking.  Between  the  two,  Rome  Stetson 
waited  his  chance  at  the  mill. 
158 


VIII 

DAY  was  whitening  on  the  Stetson  shore. 
Across  the  river  the  air  was  still  sharp 
with  the  chill  of  dawn,  and  the  mists  lay  like 
flocks  of  sheep  under  shelter  of  rock  and  crag. 
A  peculiar  cry  radiated  from  the  Lewallen  cabin 
with  singular  resonance  on  the  crisp  air — the 
mountain  cry  for  straying  cattle.  A  soft  low 
came  from  a  distant  patch  of  laurel,  and  old 
Jasper's  girl,  Martha,  folded  her  hands  like  a 
conch  at  her  mouth,  and  the  shrill  cry  again 
startled  the  air. 

"  Ye  better  come,  ye  pieded  cow-brute." 
Picking  up  a  cedar  piggin,  she  stepped  from  the 
porch  toward  the  meek  voice  that  had  answered 
her.  Temper  and  exertion  had  brought  the 
quick  blood  to  her  face.  Her  head  was  bare, 
her  thick  hair  was  loosely  coiled,  and  her  brown 
arms  were  naked  almost  to  the  shoulder.  At 
the  stable  a  young  mountaineer  was  overhauling 
his  riding-gear. 

"  Air  you  goin'  to  ride  the  hoss  to-day,  Jas?  " 
she  asked,  querulously. 

159 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

"  That's  jes  whut  I  was  aimin'  to  do.  I'm 
a-goin'  to  town." 

"  Well,  I  'lowed  I  was  goin'  to  mill  to-day. 
The  co'n  is  'mos'  gone." 

"  Well,  y'u  'lowed  wrong,"  he  answered,  im- 
perturbably. 

"  Y'u're  mean,  Jas  Lewallen,"  she  cried, 
hotly;  "  that's  whut  ye  air,  mean — dog-mean!  " 

The  young  mountaineer  looked  up,  whistled 
softly,  and  laughed.  But  when  he  brought  his 
horse  to  the  door  an  hour  later  there  was  a  bag 
of  corn  across  the  saddle. 

"As  ye  air  so  powerful  sot  on  goin'  to  mill, 
whether  or  no,  I'll  leave  this  hyeh  sack  at  the 
bend  o'  the  road,  'n'  ye  kin  git  it  thar.  I'll 
bring  the  meal  back  ef  ye  puts  it  in  the  same 
place.  I  hates  to  see  women-folks  a-ridin'  this 
horse.  Hit  spiles  him." 

The  horse  was  a  dapple-gray  of  unusual 
beauty,  and  as  the  girl  reached  out  her  hand  to 
stroke  his  throat,  he  turned  to  nibble  at  her  arm. 

"  I  reckon  he'd  jes  as  lieve  have  me  ride  him 
as  you,  Jas,"  she  said.  "  Me  'n'  him  have  got 
to  be  great  friends.  Ye  orter  n't  to  be  so 
stingy." 

"  Well,  he  ain't  no  hoss  to  be  left  out'n  the 
bresh  now,  'n'  I  hain't  goin'  to  'low  it." 

Old  Jasper  had  lounged  out  of  the  kitchen 
d^or,  and  stood  with  his  huge  bulk  against  a 
1 60 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

shrinking  pillar  of  the  porch.  The  two  men 
were  much  alike.  Both  had  the  same  black, 
threatening  brows  meeting  over  the  bridge  of 
the  nose.  A  kind  of  grim  humor  lurked  about 
the  old  man's  mouth,  which  time  might  trace 
about  young  Jasper's.  The  girl's  face  had  no 
humor;  the  same  square  brows,  apart  and  clearly 
marked,  gave  it  a  strong,  serious  cast,  and  while 
she  had  the  Lewallen  fire,  she  favored  her 
mother  enough,  so  the  neighbors  said,  "  to  have 
a  mighty  mild,  takin'  way  about  her  ef  she 
wanted." 

"You're  right,  Jas,"  the  old  "mountaineer 
said;  "  the  hoss  air  a  sin  'n'  temptation.  Hit  do 
me  good  ever'  time  I  look  at  him.'  Thar  air  no 
sech  hoss,  I  tell  ye,  this  side  o'  the  settlements." 

The  boy  started  away,  and  the  old  man  fol- 
lowed, and  halted  him  out  of  the  girl's  hearing. 

"  Tell  Eli  Crump  'n'  Jim  Stover  to  watch  the 
Breathitt  road  close  now,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  See  all  them  citizens  I  tol'  ye,  'n'  tell 
'em  to  be  ready  when  I  says  the  word.  Thar's 
no  tellin'  whut's  goin'  to  happen." 

Young  Jasper  nodded  his  head,  and  struck  his 
horse  into  a  gallop.  The  old  man  lighted  his 
pipe,  and  turned  back  to  the  house.  The  girl, 
bonnet  in  hand,  was  starting  for  the  valley. 

'  Thar  ain't  no  use  goin'  to  Gabe  Bunch's  fer 
yer  grist,"  he  said.     "  The  mill  on  Dead  Crick's 
161 


A    CUMBEBLAND   VENDETTA 

a-mnnin'  ag'in,  'n'  I  don't  want  ye  over  thar 
axin  favors,  specially  jes  now." 

"  I  lef  somethin'  fer  ye  to  eat,  dad,"  she  re- 
plied, "  ef  ye  gits  hungry  before  I  git  back." 

"  You  heerd  me?  "  he  called  after  her,  knit- 
ting his  brows. 

"  Yes,  dad;  I  heerd  ye,"  she  answered,  adding 
to  herself,  "  But  I  don't  heed  ye."  In  truth, 
the  girl  heeded  nobody.  It  was  not  her  way  to 
ask  consent,  even  her  own,  nor  to  follow  advice. 
At  the  bend  of  the  road  she  found  the  bag,  and 
for  an  instant  she  stood  wavering.  An  impulse 
turned  her  to  the  river,  and  she  loosed  the  boat, 
and  headed  it  across  the  swift,  shallow  water 
from  the  ford  and  straight  toward  the  mill. 
At  every  stroke  of  her  paddle  the  water  rose 
above  the  prow  of  the  boat,  and,  blown  into 
spray,  flew  back  and  drenched  her;  the  wind 
loosed  her  hair,  and,  tugging  at  her  skirts, 
draped  her  like  a  statue;  and  she  fought  them, 
wind  and  water,  with  mouth  set  and  a  smile  in 
her  eyes.  One  sharp  struggle  still,  where  the 
creek  leaped  into  freedom;  the  mouth  grew  a 
little  firmer,  the  eyes  laughed  more,  the  keel 
grated  on  pebbles,  and  the  boat  ran  its  nose  into 
the  withered  sedge  on  the  Stetson  shore. 

A  tall  gray  figure  was  pouring  grain  into  the 
hopper  when  she  reached  the  door  of  the  mill. 
She  stopped  abruptly,  Rome  Stetson  turned,  and 
162 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

again  the  two  were  face  to  face.  No  greeting 
passed.  The  girl  lifted  her  head  with  a  little 
toss  that  deepened  the  set  look  about  the  moun- 
taineer's mouth;  her  lax  figure  grew  tense  as 
though  strung  suddenly  against  some  coming 
harm,  and  her  eyes  searched  the  shadows  with- 
out once  resting  on  him. 

"  Whar's  Uncle  Gabe?"  She  spoke  short- 
ly, and  as  to  a  stranger. 

"  Gone  to  town,"  said  Rome,  composedly. 
He  had  schooled  himself  for  this  meeting. 

"When's  he  comin' back?  " 

"  Not  'fore  night,  I  reckon." 

"Whar's  Isom?" 

"  Isom's  sick." 

"Well,  who's  tendin'  this  mill?" 

For  answer  he  tossed  the  empty  bag  into  the 
corner  and,  without  looking  at  her,  picked  up 
another  bag. 

"  I  reckon  ye  see  me,  don't  ye?"  he  asked, 
coolly.  "  Hev  a  cheer,  and  rest  a  spell.  Hit's 
a  purty  long  climb  whar  you  come  from." 

The  girl  was  confused.  She  stayed  in  the 
doorway,  a  little  helpless  and  suspicious.  What 
was  Rome  Stetson  doing  here?  His  mastery  of 
the  situation,  his  easy  confidence,  puzzled  and 
irritated  her.  Should  she  leave?  The  moun- 
taineer was  a  Stetson,  a  worm  to  tread  on  if  it 
crawled  across  the  path.  It  would  be  like  back- 
163 


A    CUMBEELAND   VENDETTA 

ing  down  before  an  enemy.  He  might  laugh 
at  her  after  she  was  gone,  and,  at  that  thought, 
she  sat  down  in  the  chair  with  composed  face, 
looking  through  the  door  at  the  tumbling  water, 
which  broke  with  a  thousand  tints  under  the  sun, 
but  able  still  to  see  Rome,  sidewise,  as  he  moved 
about  the  hopper,  whistling  softly. 

Once  she  looked  around,  fancying  she  saw 
a  smile  on  his  sober  face.  Their  eyes  came  near 
meeting,  and  she  turned  quite  away. 

"  Ever  seed  a  body  out'n  his  head?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  rounded  with  a  start  of  sur- 
prise. 

"  Well,  it's  plumb  cur'us.  Isom's  been  that 
way  lately.  Isom's  sick,  ye  know.  Uncle 
Gabe's  got  the  rheumatiz,  'n'  Isom's  mighty  fond 
o'  Uncle  Gabe,  'n'  the  boy  pestered  me  till  I 
come  down  to  he'p  him.  Hit  p'int'ly  air  strange 
to  hear  him  talkin'.  He's  jes  a-ravin'  'bout  hell 
'n'  heaven,  'n'  the  sin  o'  killin'  folks.  You'd 
ha'  thought  he  hed  been  convicted,  though  none 
o'  our  fambly  hev  been  much  atter  religion. 
He  says  as  how  the  wrath  uv  a  livin'  God  is 
a-goin'  to  sweep  these  mount'ins,  ef  some  mighty 
tall  repentin'  hain't  done.  Of  co'se  he  got  all 
them  notions  from  Gabe.  But  Isom  al'ays 
was  quar,  'n'  seed  things  hisself.  He  ain't  no 
fool!" 

The  girl  was  listening.  Morbidly  sensitive 
164 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

to  the  supernatural,  she  had  turned  toward 
him,  and  her  face  was  relaxed  with  fear  and 
awe. 

"  He's  havin'  dreams  V  sech-like  now,  V  I 
reckon  thar's  nothing  he's  seed  or  heerd  that  he 
don'  talk  about.  He's  been  a-goin'  on  about 
you,"  he  added,  abruptly.  The  girl's  hands 
gave  a  nervous  twitch.  "  Oh,  he  don't  say 
nothin'  ag'in'  ye.  I  reckon  he  tuk  a  fancy  to 
ye.  Mam  was  plumb  distracted,  not  knowin' 
whar  he  had  seed  ye.  She  thought  it  was  like 
his  other  talk,  'n'  I  never  let  on — a-knowin'  how 
mam  was."  A  flush  rose  like  a  flame  from  the 
girl's  throat  to  her  hair.  "  But  hit's  this  war," 
Rome  went  on  in  an  unsteady  tone,  "  that  he 
talks  most  about,  'n'  I'm  sorry  myself  that 
trouble's  a-comin'."  He  dropped  all  pretence 
now.  "  I've  been  a-watchin'  fer  ye  over  thar 
on  t'  other  shore  a  good  deal  lately.  I  didn't 
know  ye  at  fust,  Marthy  " — he  spoke  her  name 
for  the  first  time — "  'n'  Gabe  says  y'u  didn't 
know  me.  I  remembered  ye,  though,  'n'  I  want 
to  tell  ye  now  what  I  toF  ye  then :  I've  got 
nothin'  ag'in  you.  I  was  hopin'  ye  mought 
come  over  ag'in — hit  was  sorter  cur'us  that  y'u 
was  the  same  gal — the  same  gal " 

His  self-control  left  him;  he  was  halting  in 
speech,  and  blundering  he  did  not  know  where. 
Fumbling  an  empty  bag  at  the  hopper,  he  had 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

not  dared  to  look  at  the  girl  till  he  heard  fier 
move.  She  had  risen,  and  was  picking  up  her 
bag.  The  hard  antagonism  of  her  face  calmed 
him  instantly. 

"  Hain't  ye  goin'  to  have  yer  grist  ground?  " 

"  Not  hyeh,"  she  answered,  quickly. 

"  Why,  gal "  He  got  no  further.  Mar- 
tha was  gone,  and  he  followed  her  to  the  bank, 
bewildered. 

The  girl's  suspicion,  lulled  by  his  plausible 
explanation,  had  grown  sharp  again.  The 
mountaineer  knew  that  she  had  been  coming 
there.  He  was  at  the  mill  for  another  reason 
than  to  take  the  boy's  place;  and  with  swift  in- 
tuition she  saw  the  truth. 

He  got  angry  as  she  rode  away — angry  with 
himself  that  he  had  let  her  go;  and  the  same 
half-tender,  half-brutal  impulse  seized  him  as 
when  he  saw  her  first.  This  time  he  yielded. 
His  horse  was  at  hand,  and  the  river  not  far 
below  was  narrow.  The  bridle-path  that  led 
to  the  Lewallen  cabin  swerved  at  one  place  to 
a  cliff  overlooking  the  river,  and  by  hard  riding 
and  a  climb  of  a  few  hundred  feet  on  foot  he 
could  overtake  her  half-way  up  the  mountain 
steep. 

The  plan  was  no  more  than  shaped  before 
he  was  in  the  saddle  and  galloping  down  the 
river.  The  set  of  his  face  changed  hardly  a 
166 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

line  while  he  swam  the  stream,  and,  drenched 
to  the  waist,  scaled  the  cliff.  When  he  reached 
the  spot,  he  found  the  prints  of  a  woman's  shoe 
in  the  dust  of  the  path,  going  down.  There 
were  none  returning,  and  he  had  not  long  to 
wait.  A  scarlet  bit  of  color  soon  flashed  through 
the  gray  bushes  below  him.  The  girl  was  with- 
out her  bag  of  corn.  She  was  climbing  slowly, 
and  was  looking  at  the  ground  as  though  in  deep 
thought.  Reckless  as  she  was,  she  had  come 
to  realize  at  last  just  what  she  had  done.  She 
had  been  pleased  at  first,  as  would  have  been 
any  woman,  when  she  saw  the  big  mountaineer 
watching  her,  for  her  life  was  lonely.  She  had 
waved  her  bonnet  at  him  from  mere  mischief. 
She  hardly  knew  it  herself,  but  she  had  gone 
across  the  river  to  find  out  who  he  was.  She 
had  shrunk  from  him  as  from  a  snake  there- 
after, and  had  gone  no  more  until  old  Jasper 
had  sent  her  because  the  Lewallen  mill  was 
broken,  and  because  she  was  a  woman,  and  would 
be  safe  from  harm.  She  had  met  him  then 
when  she  could  not  help  herself.  But  now  she 
had  gone  of  her  own  accord.  She  had  given 
this  Stetson,  a  bitter  enemy,  a  chance  to  see  her, 
to  talk  with  her.  She  had  listened  to  him;  she 
had  been  on  the  point  of  letting  him  grind  her 
corn.  And  he  knew  how  often  she  had  gone  to 
the  mill,  and  he  could  not  know  that  she  had 
167 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

ever  been  sent.  Perhaps  he  thought  that  she 
had  come  to  make  overtures  of  peace,  friend- 
ship, even  more.  The  suspicion  reddened  her 
face  with  shame,  and  her  anger  at  him  was  turned 
upon  herself.  Why  she  had  gone  again  that 
day  she  hardly  knew.  But  if  there  was  another 
reason  than  simple  perversity,  it  was  the  mem- 
ory of  Rome  Stetson's  face  when  he  caught  her 
boat  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  way  she  could  not 
answer.  The  anger  of  the  moment  came  with 
every  thought  of  the  incident  afterward,  and 
with  it  came  too  this  memory  of  his  look,  which 
made  her  at  once  defiant  and  uneasy.  She  saw 
him  now  only  when  she  was  quite  close,  and, 
startled,  she  stood  still;  his  stern  look  brought 
her  the  same  disquiet,  but  she  gave  no  sign  of 
fear. 

"  Whut's  the  matter  with  ye?  " 

The  question  was  too  abrupt,  too  savage,  and 
the  girl  looked  straight  at  him,  and  her  lips 
tightened  with  a  resolution  not  to  speak.  The 
movement  put  him  beyond  control. 

"  Y'u  puts  hell  into  me,  Marthy  Lewallen; 
y'u  puts  downright  hell  into  me."  The  words 
came  between  gritted  teeth.  "  I  want  to  take 
ye  up  V  throw  ye  off  this  cliff  clean  into  the 
river,  V  I  reckon  the  next  minute  I'd  jump  off 
atter  ye.  Y'u've  'witched  me,  gal!  I  forgits 
who  ye  air  'n'  who  I  be,  V  sometimes  I  want 
168 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

to  come  over  hyeh  'n'  kerry  ye  out'n  these  moun- 
t'ins,  'n'  nuver  come  back.  You  know  whut 
I've  been  watchin'  the  river  fer  sence  the  fust 
time  I  seed  ye.  You  know  whut  I've  been 
a-stayin'  at  the  mill  fer,  'n'  Steve  mad  'n'  mam 
a-jowerin' — 'n'  a-lookin'  over  hyeh  fer  ye  night 
'n'  day!  Y'u  know  whut  I've  jes  swum  over 
hyeh  fer!  Whut's  the  matter  with  ye?" 

Martha  was  not  looking  for  a  confession  like 
this.  It  took  away  her  shame  at  once,  and  the 
passion  of  it  thrilled  her,  and  left  her  trembling. 
While  he  spoke  her  lashes  drooped  quickly,  her 
face  softened,  and  the  color  came  back  to  it. 
She  began  intertwining  her  fingers,  and  would 
not  look  up  at  him. 

"  Ef  y'u  hates  me  like  the  rest  uv  ye,  why 
don't  ye  say  it  right  out?  'N'  ef  ye  do  hate  me, 
whut  hev  you  been  lookin'  'cross  the  river  fer, 
V  a-shakin'  yer  bonnet  at  me,  'n'  paddlin'  to 
Gabe's  fer  yer  grist,  when  the  mill  on  Dead 
Crick's  been  a-runnin',  'n'  I  know  it?  You've 
been  banterin'  me,  hev  ye?" — the  blood  rose 
to  his  eyes  again.  '  Ye  mustn't  fool  with  me, 

gal,  by ,  ye  mustn't.  Whut  hev  you  been 

goin'  over  thar  fer?  "  He  even  took  a  threat- 
ening step  toward  her,  and,  with  a  helpless  ges- 
ture, stopped.  The  girl  was  a  little  frightened. 
Indeed,  she  smiled,  seeing  her  power  over  him; 
she  seemed  even  about  to  laugh  outright;  but 
169 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

the  smile  turned  to  a  quick  look  of  alarm,  and 
she  bent  her  head  suddenly  to  listen  to  some- 
thing below.  At  last  she  did  speak.  "  Some- 
body's comin' !  "  she  said.  "  You'd  better  git 
out  o'  the  way,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly. 
"  Somebody's  comin',  I  tell  ye !  Don't  ye 
hear?  " 

It  was  no  ruse  to  get  rid  of  him.  The  girl's 
eyes  were  dilating.  Something  was  coming  far 
below.  Rome  could  catch  the  faint  beats  of  a 
horse's  hoofs.  He  was  unarmed,  and  he  knew 
it  was  death  for  him  to  be  seen  on  that  forbid- 
den mountain;  but  he  was  beyond  caution,  and 
ready  to  welcome  any  vent  to  his  passion,  and 
he  merely  shook  his  head. 

"  Ef  it's  Satan  hisself,  I  hain't  goin1  to  run." 
The  hoof-beats  came  nearer.  The  rider  must 
soon  see  them  from  the  coil  below. 

"Rome,  hit's  Jas!  He's  got  his  rifle,  and 
he'll  kill  ye,  'n'  me  too !  "  The  girl  was  white 
with  distress.  She  had  called  him  by  his  name, 
and  the  tone  was  of  appeal,  not  anger.  The 
black  look  passed  from  his  face,  and  he  caught 
her  by  the  shoulders  with  rough  tenderness ;  but 
she  pushed  him  away,  and  without  a  word  he 
sprang  from  the  road  and  let  himself  noiselessly 
down  the  cliff.  The  hoof-beats  thundered  above 
his  head,  and  Young  Jasper's  voice  hailed 
Martha. 

170 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

"  This  hyeh's  the  bigges'  meal  I  ever  strad- 
dled. Why  d'n't  ye  git  the  grist  ground?  " 

For  a  moment  the  girl  did  not  answer,  and 
Rome  waited,  breathless.  "  Wasn't  the  mill 
runnin'?  Whyn't  ye  go  on  'cross  the  river?  " 

"  That's  whut  I  did,"  said  the  girl,  quietly. 
"  Uncle  Gabe  wasn't  thar,  'n'  Rome  Stetson 
was.  I  wouldn't  'low  him  to  grin'  the  co'n,  'n' 
so  I  toted  hit  back." 

"  Rome  Stetson!  "  The  voice  was  lost  in  a 
volley  of  oaths. 

The  two  passed  out  of  hearing,  and  Rome 
went  plunging  down  the  mountain,  swinging 
recklessly  from  one  little  tree  to  another,  and 
wrenching  limbs  from  their  sockets  out  of  pure 
physical  ecstasy.  When  he  reached  his  horse  he 
sat  down,  breathing  heavily,  on  a  bed  of  moss, 
with  a  strange  new  yearning  in  his  heart.  If 
peace  should  come!  Why  not  peace,  if  Rufe 
should  not  come  back?  He  would  be  the  leader 
then,  and  without  him  there  could  be  no  war. 
Old  Jasper  had  killed  his  father.  He  was  too 
young  at  the  time  to  feel  poignant  sorrow  now, 
and  somehow  he  could  look  even  at  that  death 
in  a  fairer  way.  His  father  had  killed  old  Jas- 
per's brother.  So  it  went  back:  a  Lewallen 
killed  a  Stetson ;  that  Stetson  had  killed  a  Lewal- 
len, until  one  end  of  the  chain  of  deaths  was 
lost,  and  the  first  fault  could  not  be  placed, 
171 


A    CTJMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

though  each  clan  put  it  on  the  other.  In  every 
generation  there  had  been  compromises — periods 
of  peace;  why  not  now?  Old  Gabe  would 
gladly  help  him.  He  might  make  friends  with 
young  Jasper;  he  might  even  end  the  feud. 
And  then — he  and  Martha — why  not?  He 
closed  his  eyes,  and  for  one  radiant  moment  it 
all  seemed  possible.  And  then  a  gaunt  image 
rose  in  the  dream,  and  only  the  image  was  left. 
It  was  the  figure  of  his  mother,  stern  and  silent 
through  the  years,  opening  her  grim  lips  rarely 
without  some  curse  against  the  Lewallen  race. 
He  remembered  she  had  smiled  for  the  first 
time  when  she  heard  of  the  new  trouble — the 
flight  of  his  uncle  and  the  hope  of  conflict.  She 
had  turned  to  him  with  her  eyes  on  fire  and  her 
old  hands  clinched.  She  had  said  nothing,  but 
he  understood  her  look.  And  now — Good 
God!  what  would  she  think  and  say  if  she  could 
know  what  he  had  done?  His  whole  frame 
twitched  at  the  thought,  and,  with  a  nervous 
spring  to  escape  it,  he  was  on  his  feet,  and  start- 
ing down  the  mountain. 

Close  to  the  river  he  heard  voices  below  him, 
and  he  turned  his  horse  quickly  aside  into  the 
bushes.  Two  women  who  had  been  washing 
clothes  passed,  carrying  white  bundles  home. 
They  were  talking  of  the  coming  feud. 

"  That  ar  young  Stetson  ain't  much  like  his 
172 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

dad,"  said  one.  "  Young  Jas  has  been  a-darin1 
'n'  a-banterin'  him,  'n'  he  won't  take  it  up. 
They  say  he  air  turnin'  out  a  plumb  coward." 

When  he  reached  the  Stetson  cabin  three 
horses  with  drooping  heads  were  hitched  to  the 
fence.  All  had  travelled  a  long  way.  One 
wore  a  man's  saddle;  on  the  others  were  thick 
blankets  tied  together  with  leathern  thongs. 

In  the  dark  porch  sat  several  men.  Through 
the  kitchen  door  he  could  see  his  mother  getting 
supper.  Inside  a  dozen  rifles  leaned  against  the 
wall  in  the  firelight,  and  about  their  butts  was  a 
pile  of  ammunition.  In  the  doorway  stood 
Rufe  Stetson. 


IX 

ALL  were  smoking  and  silent.  Several  spoke 
from  the  shadows  as  Rome  stepped  on 
the  porch,  and  Rufe  Stetson  faced  him  a  mo- 
ment in  the  doorway,  and  laughed. 

"  Seem  kinder  s'prised?  "  he  said,  with  a 
searching  look.  "Wasn't  lookin'  for  me?  I 
reckon  I'll  s'prise  sev'ral  ef  I  hev  good-luck." 

The  subtlety  of  this  sent  a  chuckle  of  appre- 
ciation through  the  porch,  but  Rome  passed  in 
without  answer. 

Isom  lay  on  his  bed  within  the  circle  of  light, 
and  his  face  in  the  brilliant  glow  was  white,  and 
his  eyes  shone  feverishly.  "  Rome,"  he  said,  ex- 
citedly, "  Uncle  Rufe's  hyeh,  'n'  they  laywayed 

him,  'n' "  He  paused  abruptly.  His  mother 

came  in,  and  at  her  call  the  mountaineers  trooped 
through  the  covered  porch,  and  sat  down  to 
supper  in  the  kitchen.  They  ate  hastily  and  in 
silence,  the  mother  attending  their  wants,  and 
Rome  helping  her.  The  meal  finished,  they 
drew  their  chairs  about  the  fire.  Pipes  were 
lighted,  and  Rufe  Stetson  rose  and  closed  the 
door. 

174 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

"  Thar's  no  use  harryin'  the  boy,"  he  said; 
"  I  reckon  he'll  be  too  puny  to  take  a  hand." 

The  mother  stopped  clearing  the  table,  and 
sat  on  the  rock  hearth  close  to  the  fire,  her 
withered  lips  shut  tight  about  a  lighted  pipe, 
and  her  sunken  eyes  glowing  like  the  coal  of 
fire  in  its  black  bowl.  Now  and  then  she 
would  stretch  her  knotted  hands  nervously  into 
the  flames,  or  knit  them  about  her  knees,  look- 
ing closely  at  the  heavy  faces  about  her,  which 
had  lightened  a  little  with  expectancy.  Rufe 
Stetson  stood  before  the  blaze,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  and  his  huge  figure  bent  in  reflec- 
tion. At  intervals  he  would  look  with  half-shut 
eyes  at  Rome,  who  sat  with  troubled  face  out- 
side the  firelight.  Across  the  knees  of  Steve 
Marcum,  the  best  marksman  in  the  mountains, 
lay  the  barrel  of  a  new  Winchester.  Old  Sam 
Day,  Rufe's  father-in-law  and  counsellor  to  the 
Stetsons  for  a  score  of  years,  sat  as  if  asleep  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace  from  the  old 
mother,  with  his  big  square  head  pressed  down 
between  his  misshapen  shoulders. 

"  The  time  hev  come,  Rome."  Rufe  spoke 
between  the  puffs  of  his  pipe,  and  Rome's  heart 
quickened,  for  every  eye  was  upon  him.  Thar's 
goin'  to  be  trouble  now.  I  hear  as  how  young 
Jasper  hev  been  talkin'  purty  tall  about  ye — 
'lowin'  as  how  ye  air  afeard  o'  him." 
175 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

Rome  felt  his  mother's  burning  look.  He 
did  not  turn  toward  her  nor  Rufe,  but  his  face 
grew  sullen,  and  his  voice  was  low  and  harsh. 
"  I  reckon  he'll  find  out  about  that  when  the 
time  comes,"  he  said,  quietly — too  quietly,  for 
the  old  mother  stirred  uneasily,  and  significant 
glances  went  from  eye  to  eye.  Rufe  did  not  look 
up  from  the  floor.  He  had  been  told  about 
Rome's  peculiar  conduct,  and,  while  the  reason 
for  it  was  beyond  guessing,  he  knew  the  temper 
of  the  boy  and  how  to  kindle  it.  He  had 
thrust  a  thorn  in  a  tender  spot,  and  he  let  it 
rankle.  How  sorely  it  did  rankle  he  little  knew. 
The  voice  of  the  woman  across  the  river  was 
still  in  Rome's  ears.  Nothing  cuts  the  moun- 
taineer to  the  quick  like  the  name  of  coward. 
It  stung  him  like  the  lash  of  an  ox-whip  then ;  it 
smarted  all  the  way  across  the  river  and  up  the 
mountain.  Young  Jasper  had  been  charging 
him  broadcast  with  cowardice,  and  Jasper's  peo- 
ple no  doubt  believed  it.  Perhaps  his  own  did 
— his  uncle,  his  mother.  The  bare  chance  of 
such  a  humiliation  set  up  an  inward  rage.  He 
wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  been  such  a 
fool  as  to  think  of  peace.  The  woman's  gossip 
had  swept  kindly  impulses  from  his  heart  with 
a  fresh  tide  of  bitterness,  and,  helpless  now 
against  its  current,  he  sullenly  gave  way,  and 
let  his  passions  loose  to  drift  with  it. 
176 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

"Whar  d'  ye  git  the  guns,  Rufe?"  Steve 
was  testing  the  action  of  the  Winchester  with  a 
kindling  look,  as  the  click  of  the  locks  struck 
softly  through  the  silence. 

"Jackson;  'way  up  in  Breathitt,  at  the  eend 
of  the  new  road." 

'  No  wonder  y'u've  been  gone  so  long." 

"  I  had  to  wait  thar  fer  the  guns,  V  I  had  to 
travel  atter  dark  comin'  back,  'n'  lay  out'n  the 
bresh  by  day.  Hit's  full  eighty  mile  up  thar." 

"Air  ye  shore  nobody  seed  ye?" 

The  question  was  from  a  Marcum,  who  had 
come  in  late,  and  several  laughed.  Rufe  threw 
back  his  dusty  coat,  which  was  ripped  through 
the  lapel  by  a  bullet. 

'  They  seed  me  well  'nough  fer  that,"  he 
said,  grimly,  and  then  he  looked  toward  Rome, 
who  thought  of  old  Jasper,  and  gave  back  a 
gleam  of  fierce  sympathy.  There  were  several 
nods  of  approval  along  with  the  laugh  that  fol- 
lowed. It  was  a  surprise — so  little  considera- 
tion of  an  escape  so  narrow — from  Rufe;  for, 
as  old  Gabe  said,  Rufe  was  big  and  good-na- 
tured, and  was  not  thought  fit  for  leadership. 
But  there  was  a  change  in  him  when  he  came 
back  from  the  West.  He  was  quieter;  he 
laughed  less.  No  one  spoke  of  the  difference; 
it  was  too  vague;  but  every  one  felt  it,  and  it 
had  an  effect.  His  flight  had  made  many  un- 
177 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

easy,  but  his  return,  for  that  reason,  brought  a 
stancher  fealty  from  these;  and  this  was  evident 
now.  All  eyes  were  upon  him,  and  all  tongues, 
even  old  Sam's,  waited  now  for  his  to  speak. 

"  Whut  we've  got  to  do,  we've  got  to  do 
mighty  quick,"  he  began,  at  last.  "  Things  air 
changin'.  I  seed  it  over  thar  in  Breathitt.  The 
soldiers  V  that  scar-faced  Jellico  preacher  hev 
broke  up  the  fightin'  over  thar,  'n'  ef  we  don't 
watch  out,  they'll  be  a-doin'  it  hyeh,  when  we 
start  our  leetle  frolic.  We  hain't  got  no  time 
to  fool.  Old  Jas  knows  this  as  well  as  me,  'n' 
thar's  goin'  to  be  mighty  leetle  chance  fer  'em 
to  layway  'n'  pick  us  off  from  the  bresh.  Thar's 
goin'  to  be  fa'r  fightin'  fer  once,  thank  the 
Lord.  They  bushwhacked  us  durin'  the  war,  'n' 
they've  laywayed  us  'n'  shot  us  to  pieces  ever 
sence;  but  now,  ef  God  A'mighty's  willin',  the 
thing's  a-goin'  to  be  settled  one  way  or  t'other 
at  last,  I  reckon." 

He  stopped  a  moment  to  think.  The  men's 
breathing  could  be  heard,  so  quiet  was  the  room, 
and  Rufe  went  on  telling  in  detail,  slowly,  as  if 
to  himself,  the  wrongs  the  Lewallens  had  done 
his  people.  When  he  came  to  old  Jasper  his 
voice  was  low,  and  his  manner  was  quieter  than 
ever. 

"  Now  old  Jas  have  got  to  the  p'int  whar  he 
says  as  how  nobody  in  this  county  kin  undersell 
178 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

him  'n'  stay  hyeh.  Old  Jas  druv  Bond  Vickers 
out'n  the  mount'ins  fer  tryin'  hit.  He  druv 
Jess  Hale  away;  'n'  them  two  air  our  kin." 

The  big  mountaineer  turned  then,  and 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  His  eyes 
grew  a  little  brighter,  and  his  nostrils  spread, 
but  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm  he  added,  still 
quietly : 

"  Y'  all  know  whut  he's  done." 

The  gesture  lighted  memories  of  personal 
wrongs  in  every  breast;  he  had  tossed  a  fire- 
brand among  fagots,  and  an  angry  light  began 
to  burn  from  the  eyes  that  watched  him. 

"  Ye  know,  too,  that  he  thinks  he  has  played 
the  same  game  with  me;  but  ye  don't  know,  I 
reckon,  that  he  had  ole  Jim  Stover  'n'  that  mis'- 
able  Eli  Crump  a-hidin'  in  the  bushes  to  shoot 
me" — again  he  grasped  the  torn  lapel;  "that 
a  body  warned  me  to  git  away  from  Hazlan; 
'n'  the  night  I  left  home  they  come  thar  to  kill 
me,  'n'  s'arched  the  house,  'n'  skeered  Mollie 
'n'  the  leetle  gal  'most  to  death." 

The  mountaineer's  self-control  was  lost  sud- 
denly in  a  furious  oath.  The  men  did  know, 
but  in  fresh  anger  they  leaned  forward  in  their 
chairs,  and  twisted  about  with  smothered  curses. 
The  old  woman  had  stopped  smoking,  and  was 
rocking  her  body  to  and  fro.  Her  lips  were 
drawn  in  upon  her  toothless  gums,  and  her  pipe 
179 


A    CUMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

was  clinched  against  her  sunken  breast.  The 
head  of  the  old  mountaineer  was  lifted,  and  his 
eyes  were  open  and  shining  fiercely. 

"  I  hear  as  how  he  says  I'm  gone  fer  good. 
Well,  I  have  been  kinder  easy-goin',  hatin'  to 
fight,  but  sence  the  day  I  seed  Rome's  dad  thar 
dead  in  his  blood,  I  hev  had  jes  one  thing  I 
wanted  to  do.  Thar  wasn't  no  use  stayin'  hyeh; 
I  seed  that.  Rome  thar  was  too  leetle,  and  they 
was  too  many  fer  me.  I  knowed  it  was  easier 
to  git  a  new  start  out  West,  'n'  when  I  come 
back  to  the  mount'in,  hit  was  to  do  jes — whut 
I'm  —  going  —  to  —  do  —  now."  He  wheeled 
suddenly  upon  Rome,  with  one  huge  hand  lifted. 
Under  it  the  old  woman's  voice  rose  in  a  sudden 
wail  : 

"  Yes ;  'n'  I  want  to  see  it  done  befoh  I  die. 
I  hain't  hyeh  fer  long,  but  I  hain't  goin'  to  leave 
as  long  as  ole  Jas  is  hyeh,  'n'  I  want  ye  all  to 
know  it.  Ole  Jas  hev  got  to  go  fust.  You 
hear  me,  Rome?  I'm  a-talkin'  to  you;  I'm 
a-talkin'  to  you.  Hit's  yo'  time  now!  " 

The  frenzied  chant  raised  Rome  from  his 
chair.  Rufe  himself  took  up  the  spirit  of  it, 
and  his  voice  was  above  all  caution. 

"  Yes,  Rome  !     They  killed  him,  boy.     They 

sneaked  on  him,  'n'  shot  him  to  pieces  from  the 

bushes.     Yes ;  hit's  yo'  time  now !     Look  hyeh, 

boys !  "     He  reached  above  the  fireplace  and 

180 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

took  down  an  old  rifle — his  brother's — which 
the  old  mother  had  suffered  no  one  to  touch. 
He  held  it  before  the  fire,  pointing  to  two 
crosses  made  near  the  flash-pan.  '  Thar's  one 
fer  ole  Jim  Lewallen !  Thar's  one  fer  ole  Jas ! 
He  got  Jim,  but  ole  Jas  has  got  him,  V  thar's 
his  cross  thar  yit!  Whar's  yo'  gun,  Rome? 
Shame  on  ye,  boy !  " 

The  wild-eyed  old  woman  was  before  him. 
She  had  divined  Rufe's  purpose,  and  was  already 
at  his  side,  with  Rome's  Winchester  in  one 
hand  and  a  clasp-knife  in  the  other.  Every 
man  was  on  his  feet;  the  door  was  open,  and 
the  boy  Isom  was  at  the  threshold,  his  eyes  blaz- 
ing from  his  white  face.  Rome  had  strode  for- 
ward. 

"  Yes,  boy;  now's  the  time,  right  hyeh  before 
us  all!" 

The  mother  had  the  knife  outstretched. 
Rome  took  it,  and  the  scratch  of  the  point  on 
the  hard  steel  went  twice  through  the  stillness — 
"  one  more  fer  the  young  un" ;  the  voice  was  the 
old  mother's — then  twice  again. 

The  moon  was  sinking  when  Rome  stood  in 
the  door  alone.  The  tramp  of  horses  was 
growing  fainter  down  the  mountain.  The  trees 
were  swaying  in  the  wind  below  him,  and  he 
could  just  see  the  gray  cliffs  on  the  other  shore. 
The  morning  seemed  far  away;  it  made  him 
181 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

dizzy  looking  back  to  it  through  the  tumult  of 
the  day.  Somewhere  in  the  haze  was  the  vision 
of  a  girl's  white  face — white  with  distress  for 
him.  Her  father  and  her  brother  he  had  sworn 
to  kill.  He  had  made  a  cross  for  each,  and  each 
cross  was  an  oath.  He  closed  the  door;  and 
then  he  gave  way,  and  sat  down  with  his  head 
in  both  hands.  The  noises  in  the  kitchen  ceased. 
The  fire  died  away,  and  the  chill  air  gathered 
about  him.  When  he  rose,  the  restless  eyes  of 
the  boy  were  upon  him  from  the  shadows. 


182 


IT  was  court-day  in  Hazlan,  but  so  early  in 
the  morning  nothing  was  astir  in  the  town 
that  hinted  of  its  life  on  such  a  day.  But  for 
the  ring  of  a  blacksmith's  anvil  on  the  quiet  air, 
and  the  fact  that  nowhere  was  a  church-spire 
visible,  a  stranger  would  have  thought  that  the 
peace  of  Sabbath  overlay  a  village  of  God-fear- 
ing people.  A  burly  figure  lounged  in  the  porch 
of  a  rickety  house,  and  yawned  under  a  swing- 
ing sign,  the  rude  letters  of  which  promised  "  pri- 
vate entertainment  "  for  the  traveller  unlucky 
enough  to  pass  that  way.  In  the  one  long,  nar- 
row main  street,  closely  flanked  by  log  and 
framed  houses,  nothing  else  human  was  in  sight. 
Out  from  this  street,  and  in  an  empty  square, 
stood  the  one  brick  building  in  the  place,  the 
court-house,  brick  without,  brick  within;  unfin- 
ished, unpencilled,  unpainted;  panes  out  of  the 
windows,  a  shutter  off  here  and  there,  or  swing- 
ing drunkenly  on  one  hinge ;  the  door  wide  open, 
as  though  there  was  no  privacy  within — a  poor 
structure,  with  the  look  of  a  good  man  gone 
shiftless  and  fast  going  wrong. 

183 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

Soon  two  or  three  lank  brown  figures  appeared 
from  each  direction  on  foot;  then  a  horseman 
or  two,  and  by  and  by  mountaineers  came  in 
groups,  on  horse  and  on  foot.  In  time  the  side 
alleys  and  the  court-house  square  were  filled  with 
horses  and  mules,  and  even  steers.  The  moun- 
taineers crowded  the  narrow  street :  idling  from 
side  to  side;  squatting  for  a  bargain  on  the 
wooden  sidewalks ;  grouping  on  the  porch  of  the 
rickety  hotel,  and  on  the  court-house  steps; 
loitering  in  and  out  of  the  one  store  in  sight. 
Out  in  the  street  several  stood  about  a  horse, 
looking  at  his  teeth,  holding  his  eyes  to  the  sun, 
punching  his  ribs,  twisting  his  tail;  while  the 
phlegmatic  owner  sat  astride  the  submissive 
beast,  and  spoke  short  answers  to  rare  questions. 
Everybody  talked  politics,  the  crop  failure,  or 
the  last  fight  at  the  seat  of  some  private  war; 
but  nobody  spoke  of  a  Lewallen  or  a  Stetson  un- 
less he  knew  his  listener's  heart,  and  said  it  in 
a  whisper.  For  nobody  knew  when  the  pow- 
der would  flash,  or  who  had  taken  sides,  or  that 
a  careless  word  might  not  array  him  with  one 
or  the  other  faction. 

A  motley  throng  it  was — in  brown  or  gray 
homespun,  with  trousers  in  cowhide  boots,  and 
slouched  hats  with  brims  curved  according  to 
temperament,  but  with  striking  figures  in  it;  the 
patriarch  with  long,  white  hair,  shorn  even  with 
184 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

the  base  of  the  neck,  and  bearded  only  at  the 
throat — a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  the  sage  of 
his  district;  a  little  mountaineer  with  curling 
black  hair  and  beard,  and  dark,  fine  features; 
a  grizzled  giant  with  a  head  rugged  enough  to 
have  been  carelessly  chipped  from  stone ;  a  brag- 
ging candidate  claiming  everybody's  notice;  a 
square-shouldered  fellow  surging  through  the 
crowd  like  a  stranger ;  an  open-faced,  devil-may- 
care  young  gallant  on  fire  with  moonshine;  a 
skulking  figure  with  brutish  mouth  and  shifting 
eyes.  Indeed,  every  figure  seemed  distinct;  for, 
living  apart  from  his  neighbor,  and  troubling 
the  law  but  little  in  small  matters  of  dispute,  the 
mountaineer  preserves  independence,  and  keeps 
the  edges  of  his  individuality  unworn.  Appar- 
ently there  was  not  a  woman  in  town.  Those 
that  lived  there  kept  housed,  and  the  fact  was 
significant.  Still,  it  was  close  to  noon,  and  yet 
not  a  Stetson  or  a  Lewallen  had  been  seen. 
The  stores  of  Rufe  and  old  Jasper  were  at  the 
extremities  of  the  town,  and  the  crowd  did  not 
move  those  ways.  It  waited  in  the  centre,  and 
whetted  impatience  by  sly  trips  in  twos  and 
three  to  stables  or  side  alleys  for  "  mountain 
dew."  Now  and  then  the  sheriff,  a  little  man 
with  a  mighty  voice,  would  appear  on  the  court- 
house steps,  and  summon  a  witness  to  court, 
where  a  frightened  judge  gave  instructions  to  a 
185 


A    CUMBEKLAND    VENDETTA 

frightened  jury.  But  few  went,  unless  called; 
for  the  interest  was  outside;  every  man  in  the 
streets  knew  that  a  storm  was  nigh,  and  was 
waiting  to  see  it  burst. 

Noon  passed.  A  hoarse  bell  and  a  whining 
hound  had  announced  dinner  in  the  hotel.  The 
guests  were  coming  again  into  the  streets. 
Eyes  were  brighter,  faces  a  little  more  flushed, 
and  the  "  moonshine  "  was  passed  more  openly. 
Both  ways  the  crowd  watched  closely.  The 
quiet  at  each  end  of  the  street  was  ominous,  and 
the  delay  could  last  but  little  longer.  The 
lookers-on  themselves  were  getting  quarrelsome. 
The  vent  must  come  soon,  or  among  them  there 
would  be  trouble. 

"  Thar  comes  Jas  Lewallen!  "  At  last.  A 
dozen  voices  spoke  at  once.  A  horseman  had 
appeared  far  down  the  street  from  the  Lewal- 
len end.  The  clouds  broke  from  about  the  sun, 
and  a  dozen  men  knew  the  horse  that  bore  him ; 
for  the  gray  was  prancing  the  street  sidewise, 
and  throwing  the  sunlight  from  his  flanks. 
Nobody  followed,  and  the  crowd  was  puzzled. 
Young  Jasper  carried  a  Winchester  across  his 
saddle-bow,  and,  swaying  with  the  action  of  his 
horse,  came  on. 

"What  air  he  about?" 

"  He's  a  plumb  idgit." 

"  He  mus'  be  crazy." 
186 


A    CUMBERLAND   YEXDETTA 

"He's  drunk!" 

The  wonder  ceased.  Young  Jasper  was 
reeling.  Two  or  three  Stetsons  slipped  from 
the  crowd,  and  there  was  a  galloping  of  hoofs 
the  other  way.  Another  horseman  appeared 
from  the  Lewallen  end,  riding  hastily.  The 
new-comer's  errand  was  to  call  Jasper  back. 
But  the  young  dare-devil  was  close  to  the 
crowd,  and  was  swinging  a  bottle  over  his  head. 

"  Come  back  hyeh,  Jas !  Come  hyeh !  " 
The  new-comer  was  shouting  afar  off  while  he 
galloped.  Horses  were  being  untethered  from 
the  side  alleys.  Several  more  Lewallen  riders 
came  in  sight.  They  could  see  the  gray  shining 
in  the  sunlight  amid  the  crowd,  and  the  man 
sent  after  him  halted  at  a  safe  distance,  gesticu- 
lating; and  they,  too,  spurred  forward. 

"Hello,  boys!"  young  Jasper  was  calling 
out,  as  he  swayed  from  side  to  side,  the  people 
everywhere  giving  him  way. 

"  Fun  to-day,  by !  fun  to-day!  Who'll 

hev  a  drink  ?  Hyeh's  hell  to  the  Stetsons,  whar 
some  of  'em  '11  be  afore  night!  " 

With  a  swagger  he  lifted  the  bottle  to  his 
lips,  and,  stopping  short,  let  it  fall  untouched  to 
the  ground.  He  had  straightened  in  his  saddle, 
and  was  looking  up  the  street.  With  a  deep 
curse  he  threw  the  Winchester  to  his  shoulder, 
fired,  and  before  his  yell  had  died  on  his  lips 
187 


horse  and  rider  were  away  like  a  shaft  of  light. 
The  crowd  melted  like  magic  from  the  street. 
The  Stetsons,  chiefly  on  foot,  did  not  return  the 
fire,  but  halted  up  the  street,  as  if  parleying. 
Young  Jasper  joined  his  party,  and  they,  too, 
stood  still  a  moment,  puzzled  by  the  irresolution 
of  the  other  side. 

"  Watch  out!  they're  gittin'  round  ye!  Run 
for  the  court-house,  ye  fools ! — ye,  run !  "  The 
voice  came  in  a  loud  yell  from  somewhere  down 
the  street,  and  its  warning  was  just  in  time. 

A  wreath  of  smoke  came  about  a  corner  of  the 
house  far  down  the  street,  and  young  Jasper 
yelled,  and  dashed  up  a  side  alley  with  his  fol- 
lowers. A  moment  later  judge,  jury,  witnesses, 
and  sheriff  were  flying  down  the  court-house 
steps  at  the  point  of  Lewallen  guns ;  the  Lewal- 
len  horses,  led  by  the  gray,  were  snorting  through 
the  streets;  their  riders,  barricaded  in  the  for- 
saken court-house,  were  puffing  a  stream  of  fire 
and  smoke  from  every  window  of  court-room 
below  and  jury-room  above. 

The  streets  were  a  bedlam.  The  Stetsons 
were  yelling  with  triumph.  The  Lewallens 
were  divided,  and  Rufe  placed  three  Stetsons 
with  Winchesters  on  each  side  of  the  court- 
house, and  kept  them  firing.  Rome,  pale  and 
stern,  hid  his  force  between  the  square  and  the 
Lewallen  store.  He  was  none  too  quick.  The 
188 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

rest  were  coming  on,  led  by  old  Jasper.  It  was 
reckless,  riding  that  way  right  into  death;  but 
the  old  man  believed  young  Jasper's  life  at  stake, 
and  the  men  behind  asked  no  questions  when  old 
Jasper  led  them.  The  horses'  hoofs  beat  the 
dirt  street  like  the  crescendo  of  thunder.  The 
fierce  old  man's  hat  was  gone,  and  his  mane-like 
hair  was  shaking  in  the  wind.  Louder — and 
still  the  Stetsons  were  quiet — quiet  too  long. 
The  wily  old  man  saw  the  trap,  and,  with  a  yell, 
whirled  the  column  up  an  alley,  each  man  flat- 
tening over  his  saddle.  From  every  window, 
from  behind  every  corner  and  tree,  smoke 
belched  from  the  mouth  of  a  Winchester. 
Two  horses  went  down;  one  screamed;  the 
other  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  limped  away 
with  an  empty  saddle.  One  of  the  fallen  men 
sprang  into  safety  behind  a  house,  and  one  lay 
still,  with  his  arms  stretched  out  and  his  face 
in  the  dust. 

From  behind  barn,  house,  and  fence  the  Le- 
wallens  gave  back  a  scattering  fire ;  but  the  Stet- 
sons crept  closer,  and  were  plainly  in  greater 
numbers.  Old  Jasper  was  being  surrounded, 
and  he  mounted  again,  and  all,  followed  by  a 
chorus  of  bullets  and  triumphant  yells,  fled  for 
a  wooded  slope  in  the  rear  of  the  court-house. 
A  dozen  Lewallens  were  prisoners,  and  must 
give  up  or  starve.  There  was  savage  joy  in 
189 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

the    Stetson    crowd,    and   many-footed    rumor 
went  all  ways  that  night. 

Despite  sickness  and  Rome's  strict  order,  Isom 
had  ridden  down  to  the  mill.  Standing  in  the 
doorway,  he  and  old  Gabe  saw  up  the  river, 
where  the  water  broke  into  foam  over  the  ford, 
a  riderless  gray  horse  plunging  across.  Later 
it  neighed  at  a  gate  under  Wolf's  Head,  and 
Martha  Lewallen  ran  out  to  meet  it.  Across 
under  Thunderstruck  Knob  that  night  the  old 
Stetson  mother  listened  to  Isom's  story  of  the 
fight  with  ghastly  joy  in  her  death-marked  face. 


490 


XI 

ALL  night  the  court-house  was  guarded  and 
on  guard.  At  one  corner  of  the  square 
Rufe  Stetson,  with  a  few  men,  sat  on  watch 
in  old  Sam  Day's  cabin — the  fortress  of  the 
town,  built  for  such  a  purpose,  and  used  for 
it  many  times  before.  The  prisoners,  too,  were 
alert,  and  no  Stetson  ventured  into  the  open 
square,  for  the  moon  was  high;  an  exposure  any- 
where was  noted  instantly  by  the  whistle  of  a 
rifle-ball,  and  the  mountaineer  takes  few  risks 
except  under  stress  of  drink  or  passion.  Rome 
Stetson  had  placed  pickets  about  the  town 
wherever  surprise  was  possible.  All  night  he 
patrolled  the  streets  to  keep  his  men  in  such 
readiness  as  he  could  for  the  attack  that  the 
Lewallens  would  surely  make  to  rescue  their 
living  friends  and  to  avenge  the  dead  ones. 

But  the  triumph  was  too  great  and  unexpect- 
ed. Two  Braytons  were  dead;  several  more 
were  prisoners  with  young  Jasper  in  the  court- 
house; and  drinking  began. 

As  the  night  deepened  without  attack  the 
Stetsons  drank  more,  and  grew  reckless.  A 
191 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

dance  was  started.  Music  and  "  moonshine  " 
were  given  to  every  man  who  bore  a  Winchester. 
The  night  was  broken  with  drunken  yells,  the 
random  discharge  of  fire-arms,  and  the  mono- 
tone of  heavy  feet.  The  two  leaders  were  help- 
less, and  the  inaction  of  the  Lewallens  puzzled 
them.  Chafed  with  anxiety,  they  kept  their 
eyes  on  the  court-house  or  on  the  thicket  of 
gloom  where  their  enemies  lay.  But  the  woods 
were  as  quiet  as  the  pall  of  shadows  over  them. 
Once  Rome,  making  his  rounds,  saw  a  figure 
crawling  through  a  field  of  corn.  It  looked  like 
Crump's,  but  before  he  could  fire  the  man  rolled 
like  a  ball  down  the  bushy  bank  to  the  river.  An 
instant  later  some  object  went  swiftly  past  a 
side  street — somebody  on  horseback — and  a 
picket  fired  an  alarm.  The  horse  kept  on,  and 
Rome  threw  his  rifle  on  a  patch  of  moonlight, 
but  when  the  object  flashed  through,  his  finger 
was  numbed  at  the  trigger.  In  the  moonlight 
the  horse  looked  gray,  and  the  rider  was  seated 
sidewise.  A  bullet  from  the  court-house  clipped 
his  hat-brim  as  he  ran  recklessly  across  the  street 
to  where  Steve  Marcum  stood  in  the  dark  be- 
hind old  Sam's  cabin. 

"  Jim  Hale  '11  git  him  as  he  goes  up  the  road," 
said  Steve,  calmly — and  then  with  hot  impa- 
tience, "  Why  the  hell  don't  he  shoot?  " 

Rome  started  forward  in  the  moonlight,  and 
192 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

Steve  caught  his  arm.  Two  bullets  hissed  from 
the  court-house,  and  he  fell  back. 

A  shot  sounded  from  the  bushes  far  away 
from  the  road.  The  horse  kept  on,  and  splashed 
into  Troubled  Fork,  and  Steve  swore  bitterly. 

"  Hit  hain't  Jim.  Hit's  that  mis'able  Bud 
Vickers;  he's  been  a-standin'  guard  out'n  the 
bushes  'stid  o'  the  road.  That  was  a  spy,  I  tell 
ye,  'n'  the  coward  let  him  in  and  let  him  out. 
They'll  know  now  we're  all  drunk  1  Whut's  the 
matter?  " 

Rome's  mouth  was  half  open.  He  looked 
white  and  sick,  and  Steve  thought  he  had  been 
hit,  but  he  took  off  his  hat.  "  Purty  close !  "  he 
said,  with  a  laugh,  pointing  at  the  bullet-hole 
through  the  brim. 

Steve,  unsuspicious,  went  on :  "  Hit  was  a 
spy,  I  tell  ye.  Bud  was  afeard  to  stan'  in  the 
road,  'n'  I'm  goin'  out  thar  'n'  twist  his  damned 
neck.  We've  got  'em,  Rome !  I  tell  ye,  weVe 
got  'em !  Ef  we  kin  git  through  this  night,  and 
git  the  boys  sober  in  the  morning,  we've  got  'em 
shore!" 

The  night  did  pass  in  safety,  darkness  wore 
away  without  attack,  and  morning  broke  on  the 
town  in  its  drunken  stupor.  Then  the  curious 
silence  of  the  Lewallens  was  explained.  The 
rumor  came  that  old  Jasper  was  dead,  and  it 
went  broadcast.  Later,  friends  coming  to  the 

193 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

edge  of  the  town  for  the  bodies  of  the  dead 
Lewallens  confirmed  it.  A  random  ball  had 
passed  through  old  Lewallen's  body  in  the  wild 
flight  for  the  woods,  and  during  the  night  he  had 
spent  his  last  breath  in  a  curse  against  the  man 
who  fired  it. 

Then  each  Stetson,  waked  from  his  drunken 
sleep,  drank  again  when  he  heard  of  the  death. 
The  day  bade  fair  to  be  like  the  night,  and  again 
the  anxiety  of  the  leaders  was  edged  with  fear. 
Old  Jasper  dead  and  young  Jasper  a  prisoner, 
the  chance  was  near  to  end  the  feud,  or  there 
would  be  no  Lewallen  left  to  lead  their  enemies. 
But,  again,  they  were  wellnigh  helpless.  Al- 
ready they  had  barely  enough  men  to  guard 
their  prisoners.  Of  the  Marcums,  Steve  alone 
was  able  to  handle  a  Winchester,  and  outside 
the  sounds  of  the  carousal  were  in  the  air  and 
growing  louder.  In  a  little  while,  if  the  Lewal- 
lens but  knew  it,  escape  would  be  easy  and  the 
Stetsons  could  be  driven  from  the  town. 

"  Oh,  they  know  it,"  said  Steve.  "  They'll 
be  a-whoopin'  down  out  o'  them  woods  purty 
soon,  V  we're  goin'  to  ketch  hell.  I'd  like  to 
know  mighty  well  who  that  spy  was  last  night. 
That  cussed  Bud  Vickers  says  it  was  a  ha'nt,  on 
a  white  hoss,  with  long  hair  flyin'  in  the  wind, 
V  that  he  shot  plumb  through  it.  I  jus'  wish 
I'd  a  had  a  chance  at  it." 
194 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

Still,  noon  came  again  without  trouble,  and 
the  imprisoned  Lewallens  had  been  twenty-four 
hours  without  food.  Their  ammunition  was 
getting  scarce.  The  firing  was  less  frequent, 
though  the  watch  was  as  close  as  ever,  and  twice 
a  Winchester  had  sounded  a  signal  of  distress. 
All  knew  that  a  response  must  come  soon;  and 
come  it  did.  A  picket,  watching  the  river  road, 
saw  young  Jasper's  horse  coming  along  the  dark 
bushes  far  up  the  river,  and  brought  the  news 
to  the  group  standing  behind  old  Sam's  cabin. 
The  gray  galloped  into  sight,  and,  skirting  the 
woods,  came  straight  for  the  town — with  a 
woman  on  his  back.  The  stirrup  of  a  man's 
saddle  dangled  on  one  side,  and  the  woman's 
bonnet  had  fallen  from  her  head.  Some  one 
challenged  her. 

"  Stop,  I  tell  ye !  Don't  ye  go  near  that  court- 
house I  Stop,  I  tell  ye !  I'll  shoot !  Stop !  " 

Rome  ran  from  the  cabin  with  a  revolver  in 
each  hand.  A  drunken  mountaineer  was  raising 
a  Winchester  to  his  shoulder,  and,  springing 
from  the  back  of  the  gray  at  the  court-house 
steps,  was  Martha  Lewallen. 

"  I'll  kill  the  fust  man  that  lifts  his  finger  to 
hurt  the  gal,"  Rome  said,  knocking  the  drunken 
man's  gun  in  the  air.  '*  We  hain't  fightin' 
women !  " 

It  was  too  late  to  oppose  her,  and  the  crowd 
195 


Stood  helplessly  watching.  No  one  dared  ap- 
proach, so,  shielding  with  her  body  the  space  of 
the  opening  door,  she  threw  the  sack  of  food 
within.  Then  she  stood  a  moment  talking  and, 
turning,  climbed  to  her  saddle.  The  gray  was 
spotted  with  foam,  and  showed  the  red  of  his 
nostrils  with  every  breath  as,  with  face  flushed 
and  eyes  straight  before  her,  she  rode  slowly 
toward  the  crowd.  What  was  she  about? 
Rome  stood  rigid,  his  forgotten  pistols  hanging 
at  each  side;  the  mouth  of  the  drunken  moun- 
taineer was  open  with  stupid  wonder;  the  rest 
fell  apart  as  she  came  around  the  corner  of  the 
cabin  and,  through  the  space  given,  rode  slowly, 
her  skirt  almost  brushing  Rome,  looking  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left;  and  when  she  had 
gone  quite  through  them  all,  she  wheeled  and 
rode,  still  slowly,  through  the  open  fields  to- 
ward the  woods  which  sheltered  the  Lewallens, 
while  the  crowd  stood  in  bewildered  silence 
looking  after  her.  Yells  of  laughter  came  from 
the  old  court-house.  Some  of  the  Stetsons 
laughed,  too;  some  swore,  a  few  grumbled;  but 
there  was  not  one  who  was  not  stirred  by  the 
superb  daring  of  the  girl,  though  she  had  used 
it  only  to  show  her  contempt. 

"  Rome,  you're  a  fool ;  though,  fer  a  f ac',  we 
can't  shoot  a  woman ;  'n'  anyways  I  ruther  shoot 
her  than  the  hoss.     But  lemme  tell  ye,  thar  was 
196 


We  hain't  fight  in'  women  I '  " 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

more'n  sump'n  to  eat  In  that  bag !  They  air  up 
to  some  dodge." 

Rufe  Stetson  had  watched  the  incident  through 
a  port-hole  of  the  cabin,  and  his  tone  was  at 
once  jesting  and  anxious. 

"  That  grub  won't  last  more'n  one  day,  I 
reckon,"  said  the  drunken  mountaineer.  "  We'll 
watch  out  fer  the  gal  nex'  time.  We're  boun' 
to  git  'em  one  time  or  t'other." 

"  She  rid  through  us  to  find  out  how  many  of 
us  wasn't  dead  drunk,"  said  Steve  Marcum,  still 
watching  the  girl  as  she  rode  on,  toward  the 
woods;  "  'n'  I'm  a-thinkin'  they'll  be  down  on  us 
purty  soon  now,  'n'  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  run  fer 
it.  Look  thar  boys }  " 

The  girl  had  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  woods ; 
facing  the  town,  she  waved  her  bonnet  high 
above  her  head. 

"  Well,  whut  in  the !  "  he  said,  with  slow 

emphasis,  and  then  he  leaped  from  the  door  with 
a  yell.  The  bonnet  was  a  signal  to  the  beleag- 
ured  Lewallens.  The  rear  door  of  the  court- 
house had  been  quietly  opened,  and  the  prisoners 
were  out  in  a  body  and  scrambling  over  the  fence 
before  the  pickets  could  give  an  alarm.  The  sud- 
den yells,  the  crack  of  Winchesters,  startled  even 
the  revellers ;  and  all  who  could,  headed  by  Rome 
and  Steve  Marcum,  sprang  into  the  square,  and 
started  in  pursuit.  But  the  Lewallens  had  got 
197 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

far  ahead,  and  were  running  in  zigzag  lines  to 
dodge  the  balls  flying  after  them.  Half-way  to 
the  woods  was  a  gully  of  red  clay,  and  into  this 
the  fleetest  leaped,  and  turned  instantly  to  cover 
their  comrades.  The  Winchesters  began  to  rattle 
from  the  woods,  and  the  bullets  came  like  rain 
from  everywhere. 

"  T-h-up  I  T-h-up !  T-h-up !  "  there  were 
three  of  them — the  peculiar  soft,  dull  messages 
of  hot  lead  to  living  flesh.  A  Stetson  went  down ; 
another  stumbled;  Rufe  Stetson,  climbing  the 
fence,  caught  at  his  breast  with  an  oath,  and  fell 
back.  Rome  and  Steve  dropped  for  safety  to  the 
ground.  Every  other  Stetson  turned  in  a  panic, 
and  every  Lewallen  in  the  gully  leaped  from  it, 
and  ran  under  the  Lewallen  fire  for  shelter  in  the 
woods.  The  escape  was  over. 

"  That  was  a  purty  neat  trick,"  said  Steve, 
wiping  a  red  streak  from  his  cheek.  "  Nex' 
time  she  tries  that,  she'll  git  herself  into  trouble." 

At  nightfall  the  wounded  leader  and  the  dead 
one  were  carried  up  the  mountain,  each  to  his 
home ;  and  there  was  mourning  far  into  the  night 
on  one  bank  of  the  Cumberland,  and,  serious 
though  Rufe  Stetson's  wound  was,  exultation  on 
the  other.  But  in  it  Rome  could  take  but  little 
part.  There  had  been  no  fault  to  find  with  him 
in  the  fight.  But  a  reaction  had  set  in  when  he 
saw  the  girl  flash  in  the  moonlight  past  the  sights 
198 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

of  his  Winchester,  and  her  face  that  day  had 
again  loosed  within  him  a  flood  of  feeling  that 
drove  the  lust  for  revenge  from  his  veins.  Even 
now,  while  he  sat  in  his  own  cabin,  his  thoughts 
were  across  the  river  where  Martha,  broken  at 
last,  sat  at  her  death  vigils.  He  knew  what  her 
daring  ride  that  day  had  cost  her,  with  old  Jas- 
per dead  out  there  in  the  woods;  and  as  she 
passed  him  he  had  grown  suddenly  humbled, 
shamed.  He  grew  heart-sick  now  as  he  thought 
of  it  all;  and  the  sight  of  his  mother  on  her  bed 
in  the  corner,  close  to  death  as  she  was,  filled 
him  with  bitterness.  There  was  no  help  for  him. 
He  was  alone  now,  pitted  against  young  Jasper 
alone.  On  one  bed  lay  his  uncle — nigh  to  death. 
There  was  the  grim  figure  in  the  corner,  the  im- 
placable spirit  of  hate  and  revenge.  His  rifle 
was  against  the  wall.  If  there  was  any  joy  for 
him  in  old  Jasper's  death,  it  was  that  his  hand 
had  not  caused  it,  and  yet — God  help  him! — 
there  was  the  other  cross,  the  other  oath. 


199 


XII 

THE  star  and  the  crescent  were  swinging 
above  Wolf's  Head,  and  in  the  dark 
hour  that  breaks  into  dawn  a  cavalcade  of  Le- 
wallens  forded  the  Cumberland,  and  galloped 
along  the  Stetson  shore.  At  the  head  rode  young 
Jasper,  and  Crump  the  spy. 

Swift  changes  had  followed  the  court-house 
fight.  In  spite  of  the  death  of  Rufe  Stetson  from 
his  wound,  and  several  other  Stetsons  from  am- 
bush, the  Lewallens  had  lost  ground.  Old  Jas- 
per's store  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  creditors 
— "  furriners  " — for  debts,  and  it  was  said  his 
homestead  must  follow.  In  a  private  war  a 
leader  must  be  more  than  leader.  He  must  feed 
and  often  clothe  his  followers,  and  young  Jasper 
had  not  the  means  to  carry  on  the.  feud.  The 
famine  had  made  corn  dear.  He  could  feed 
neither  man  nor  horse,  and  the  hired  feudsmen 
fell  away,  leaving  the  Lewallens  and  the  Bray- 
tons  and  their  close  kin  to  battle  alone.  So  Jas- 
per avoided  open  combat  and  resorted  to  ambush 
and  surprise;  and,  knowing  in  some  way  every 
move  made  by  the  Stetsons,  with  great  daring 
200 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

and  success.  It  was  whispered,  too,  that  he  no 
longer  cared  who  owned  what  he  might  want  for 
himself.  Several  dark  deeds  were  traced  to  him. 
In  a  little  while  he  was  a  terror  to  good  citizens, 
and  finally  old  Gabe  asked  aid  of  the  Governor. 
Soldiers  from  the  settlements  were  looked  for  any 
day,  and  both  factions  knew  it.  At  the  least  this 
would  delay  the  war,  and  young  Jasper  had  got 
ready  for  a  last  fight,  which  was  close  at  hand. 

Half  a  mile  on  the  riders  swerved  into  a 
wooded  slope.  There  they  hid  their  horses  in 
the  brush,  and  climbed  the  spur  stealthily.'  The 
naked  woods  showed  the  cup-like  shape  of  the 
mountains  there — a  basin  from  which  radiated 
upward  wooded  ravines,  edged  with  ribs  of  rock. 
In  this  basin  the  Stetsons  were  encamped.  The 
smoke  of  a  fire  was  visible  in  the  dim  morning 
light,  and  the  Lewallens  scattered  to  surround 
the  camp,  but  the  effort  was  vain.  A  picket  saw 
the  creeping  figures;  his  gun  echoed  a  warning 
from  rock  to  rock,  and  with  yells  the  Lewallens 
ran  forward.  Rome  sprang  from  his  sleep  near 
the  fire,  bareheaded,  rifle  in  hand,  his  body  plain 
against  a  huge  rock,  and  the  bullets  hissed  and 
spat  about  him  as  he  leaped  this  way  and  that, 
firing  as  he  sprang,  and  shouting  for  his  men. 
Steve  Marcum  alone  answered.  Some,  startled 
from  sleep,  had  flepl  in  a  panic;  some  had  run 
deeper  into  the  woods  for  shelter.  And  bidding 
201 


A    CUMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

Steve  save  himself,  Rome  turned  up  the  moun- 
tain, running  from  tree  to  tree,  and  dropped  un- 
hurt behind  a  fallen  chestnut.  Other  Stetsons, 
too,  had  turned,  and  answering  bullets  began  to 
whistle  to  the  enemy,  but  they  were  widely  sep- 
arated and  ignorant  of  one  another's  position, 
and  the  Lewallens  drove  them  one  by  one  to  new 
hiding-places,  scattering  them  more.  To  his 
right  Rome  saw  Steve  Marcum  speed  like  a 
shadow  up  through  a  little  open  space,  but  he 
feared  to  move,  for  several  Lewallens  had  rec- 
ognized him,  and  were  watching  him  alone.  He 
could  not  even  fire;  at  the  least  exposure  there 
was  a  chorus  of  bullets  about  his  ears.  In  a  mo- 
ment they  began  to  come  obliquely  from  each  side 
— the  Lewallens  were  getting  around  him.  In  a 
moment  more  death  was  sure  there,  and  once 
again  he  darted  up  the  mountain.  The  bullets 
sang  after  him  like  maddened  bees.  He  felt  one 
cut  his  hat  and  another  sting  his  left  arm,  but  he 
raced  up,  up,  till  the  firing  grew  fainter  as  he 
climbed,  and  ceased  an  instant  altogether.  Then, 
still  farther  below,  came  a  sudden  crash  of  re- 
ports. Stetsons  were  pursuing  the  men  who  were 
after  him,  but  he  could  not  join  them.  The  Le- 
wallens were  scattered  everywhere  between  him 
and  his  own  man,  and  a  descent  might  lead  him 
to  the  muzzle  of  an  enemy's  Winchester.  So  he 
climbed  over  a  ledge  of  rock  and  lay  there,  peep- 
202 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

ing  through  a  crevice  between  two  bowlders, 
gaining  his  breath.  The  firing  was  far  below 
him  now,  and  was  sharp.  Evidently  his  pur- 
suers were  too  busy  defending  themselves  to 
think  further  of  him,  and  he  began  to  plan  how 
he  should  get  back  to  his  friends.  But  he  kept 
hidden,  and,  searching  the  cliffs  below  him  for 
a  sheltered  descent,  he  saw  something  like  a 
slouched  hat  just  over  a  log,  scarcely  fifty  feet 
below  him.  Presently  the  hat  was  lifted  a  few 
inches;  a  figure  rose  cautiously  and  climbed  to- 
ward the  ledge,  shielding  itself  behind  rock  and 
tree.  Very  quietly  Rome  crawled  back  to  the 
face  of  the  cliff  behind  him,  and  crouched  behind 
a  rock  with  his  cocked  rifle  across  his  knees.  The 
man  must  climb  over  the  ledge ;  there  would  be 
a  bare,  level  floor  of  rock  between  them — the 
Lewallen  would  be  at  his  mercy — and  Rome, 
with  straining  eyes,  waited.  There  was  a  foot- 
fall on  the  other  side  of  the  ledge;  a  soft  clink 
of  metal  against  stone.  The  Lewallen  was  climb- 
ing slowly — slowly.  Rome  could  hear  his  heavy 
breathing.  A  grimy  hand  slipped  over  the  sharp 
comb  of  the  ledge;  another  appeared,  clinched 
about  a  Winchester — then  the  slouched  hat,  and 
under  it  the  dark,  crafty  face  of  young  Jasper. 
Rome  sat  like  the  stone  before  him,  with  a  half- 
smile  on  his  lips.  Jasper  peered  about  with  the 
sly  caution  of  a  fox,  and  his  face  grew  puzzled 
203 


A    CUMBEELAND   VENDETTA 

and  chagrined  as  he  looked  at  the  cliffs  above 
him. 

"Stop  thar!" 

He  was  drawing  himself  over  the  ledge,  and 
the  low,  stern  voice  startled  him,  as  a  knife  might 
have  done,  thrust  suddenly  from  the  empty  air 
at  his  breast.  Rome  rose  upright  against  the  cliff, 
with  his  resolute  face  against  the  stock  of  a  Win- 
chester. 

"  Drap  that  gun!  " 

The  order  was  given  along  Stetson's  barrel, 
and  the  weapon  was  dropped,  the  steel  ringing 
on  the  stone  floor.  Rome  lowered  his  gun  to  the 
hollow  of  his  arm,  and  the  two  young  leaders 
faced  each  other  for  the  first  time  in  the  life  of 
either. 

"  Seem  kinder  s'prised  to  see  me,"  said  the 
Stetson,  grimly.  "  Hev  ye  got  a  pistol?  " 

Young  Jasper  glared  at  him  in  helpless  fer- 
ocity. 

"Naw!" 

"Knife?" 

He  drew  a  long-bladed  penknife  from  his 
pocket,  and  tossed  it  at  Rome's  feet. 

"  Jes'  move  over  thar,  will  ye?  " 

The  Lewallen  took  his  stand  against  the  cliff. 
Rome  picked  up  the  fallen  rifle  and  leaned  it 
against  the  ledge. 

"  Now,  Jas  Lewallen,  thar's  nobody  left  in 
204 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

this  leetle  trouble  'cept  you  'n'  me,  'n'  ef  one  of 
us  was  dead,  I  reckon  t'other  could  live  hyeh,  'n' 
thar'd  be  peace  in  these  mount'ins.  I  thought  o1 
that  when  I  had  ye  at  the  eend  o'  this  Winches- 
ter. I  reckon  you  would  'a'  shot  me  dead  ef  I 
had  poked  my  head  over  a  rock  as  keerless  as 
you."  That  is  just  what  he  would  have  done, 
and  Jasper  did  not  answer.  "  I've  swore  to  kill 
ye,  too,"  added  Rome,  tapping  his  gun;  "  I've 
got  a  cross  f er  ye  hyeh." 

The  Lewallen  was  no  coward.  Outcry  or  re- 
sistance was  useless. '  The  Stetson  meant  to  taunt 
him,  to  make  death  more  bitter;  for  Jasper  ex- 
pected death,  and  he  sullenly  waited  for  it  against 
the  cliff. 

"  You've  been  banterin'  me  a  long  time  now, 
'lowin'  as  how  ye  air  the  better  man  o'  the  two ; 
'n'  I've  got  a  notion  o'  givin'  ye  a  chance  to  prove 
yer  tall  talk.  Hit's  not  our  way  to  kill  a  man  in 
cold  blood,  'n'  I  don't  want  to  kill  ye  anyways  ef 
I  kin  he'p  it.  Seem  s'prised  ag'in.  Reckon  ye 
don't  believe  me?  I  don't  wonder  when  I  think 
o'  my  own  dad,  'n'  all  the  meanness  yo*  folks 
have  done  mine ;  but  I've  got  a  good  reason  fer 
not  killin'  ye — ef  I  kin  he'p  it.  Y'u  don't  know 
what  it  is,  'n'  y'u'll  never  know;  but  I'll  give  yer 
a  chance  now  fer  yer  life  ef  y'u'll  sw'ar  on  a 
stack  o'  Bibles  as  high  as  that  tree  thar  that  y'u'll 
leave  these  mount'ins  ef  I  whoops  ye,  'n'  nuver 
205 


A   CUMBEELAND   VENDETTA 

come  back  ag'in  as  long  as  you  live.  I'll  leave, 
ef  ye  whoops  me.  Now  whut  do  ye  say  ?  Will 
ye  sw'ar?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  will,  seem'  as  I've  got  to,"  was 
the  surly  answer.  But  Jasper's  face  was  dark 
with  suspicion,  and  Rome  studied  it  keenly.  The 
Lewallens  once  had  been  men  whose  word  was 
good,  but  he  did  not  like  Jasper's  look. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  trust  ye,"  he  said,  at  last,  more 
through  confidence  in  his  own  strength  than  faith 
in  his  enemy;  foi  Jasper  whipped  would  be  as 
much  at  his  mercy  as  he  was  now.  So  Rome 
threw  off  his  coat,  and  began  winding  his  home- 
spun suspenders  about  his  waist.  Watching  him 
closely,  Jasper  did  the  same. 

The  firing  below  had  ceased.  A  flock  of 
mountain  vultures  were  sailing  in  great  circles 
over  the  thick  woods.  Two  eagles  swept  straight 
from  the  rim  of  the  sun  above  Wolf's  Head, 
beating  over  a  turbulent  sea  of  mist  for  the  cliffs, 
scarcely  fifty  yards  above  the  ledge,  where  a  pine- 
tree  grew  between  two  rocks.  At  the  instant  of 
lighting,  they  wheeled  away,  each  with  a  warn- 
ing scream  to  the  other.  A  figure  lying  flat  be- 
hind the  pine  had  frightened  them,  and  now  a 
face  peeped  to  one  side,  flushed  with  eagerness 
over  the  coming  fight.  Both  were  ready  now, 
and  the  Lewallen  grew  suddenly  white  as  Rome 
turned  again  and  reached  down  for  the  guns. 
206 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

"  I  reckon  I'll  put  'em  a  leetle  furder  out  ov 
the  way,"  he  said,  kicking  the  knife  over  the 
cliff;  and,  standing  on  a  stone,  he  thrust  them 
into  a  crevice  high  above  his  head. 

"  Now,  Jas,  we'll  fight  this  gredge  out,  as  our 
grandads  have  done  afore  us." 

Lewallen  and  Stetson  were  man  to  man  at  last. 
Suspicion  was  gone  now,  and  a  short,  brutal 
laugh  came  from  the  cliff. 

"  I'll  fight  ye !    Oh,  by  God,  I'll  fight  ye !  " 

The  ring  of  the  voice  struck  an  answering 
gleam  from  Rome's  gray  eyes,  and  the  two 
sprang  for  each  other.  It  was  like  the  struggle 
of  primeval  men  who  had  not  yet  learned  even 
the  use  of  clubs.  For  an  instant  both  stood  close, 
like  two  wild  beasts  crouched  for  a  spring,  and 
circling  about  to  get  at  each  other's  throats,  with 
mouths  set,  eyes  watching  eyes,  and  hands  twitch- 
ing nervously.  Young  Jasper  leaped  first,  and 
the  Stetson,  wary  of  closing  with  him,  shrank 
back.  There  were  a  few  quick,  heavy  blows, 
and  the  Lewallen  was  beaten  away  with  blood  at 
his  lips.  Then  each  knew  the  advantage  of  the 
other.  The  Stetson's  reach  was  longer ;  the  Le- 
wallen was  shorter  and  heavier,  and  again  he 
closed  in.  Again  Rome  sent  out  his  long  arm. 
A  turn  of  Jasper's  head  let  the  heavy  fist  pass 
over  his  shoulder.  The  force  of  the  blow  drove 
Rome  forward;  the  two  clinched,  and  Jasper's 
207 


A    CUMBEELAND   VENDETTA 

arms  tightened  about  the  Stetson's  waist.  With 
a  quick  gasp  for  breath  Rome  loosed  his  hold, 
and,  bending  his  enemy's  head  back  with  one 
hand,  rained  blow  after  blow  in  his  face  with 
the  other.  One  terrible  stroke  on  the  jaw,  and 
Jasper's  arms  were  loosed;  the  two  fell  apart, 
the  one  stunned,  the  other  breathless.  One  dazed 
moment  only,  and  for  a  third  time  the  Lewallen 
came  on.  Rome  had  been  fighting  a  man ;  now 
he  faced  a  demon.  Jasper's  brows  stood  out  like 
bristles,  and  the  eyes  under  them  were  red  and 
fierce  like  a  mad  bull's.  Again  Rome's  blows 
fell,  but  again  the  Lewallen  reached  him,  and 
this  time  he  got  his  face  under  the  Stetson's  chin,  * 
and  the  heavy  fist  fell  upon  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  upon  his  neck,  as  upon  wood  and  leather. 
Again  Rome  had  to  gasp  for  breath,  and  again 
the  two  were  fiercely  locked — their  corded  arms 
as  tense  as  serpents.  Around  and  around  they 
whirled,  straining,  tripping,  breaking  the  silence 
only  with  deep,  quick  breaths  and  the  stamping 
of  feet,  Jasper  firm  on  the  rock,  and  Rome's 
agility  saving  him  from  being  lifted  in  the  air 
and  tossed  from  the  cliff.  There  was  no  pause 
for  rest.  It  was  a  struggle  to  the  end,  and  a 
quick  one;  and  under  stress  of  excitement  the 
figure  at  the  pine-tree  had  risen  to  his  knees — 
jumping  even  to  his  feet  in  plain  view,  when  the 
>bort,  strong  arms  of  the  Lewallen  began  at  last 
208 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

tc  draw  Rome  closer  still,  and  to  bend  him  back- 
ward. The  Stetson  was  giving  way  at  last.  The 
Lewallen's  vindictive  face  grew  blacker,  and  his 
white  teeth  showed  between  his  snarling  lips  as 
he  fastened  one  leg  behind  his  enemy's,  and,  with 
chin  against  his  shoulder,  bent  him  slowly,  slowly 
back.  The  two  breathed  in  short,  painful  gasps ; 
their  swollen  muscles  trembled  under  the  strain 
as  with  ague.  Back  —  back  —  the  Stetson  was 
falling;  he  seemed  almost  down,  when — the  trick 
is  an  old  one — whirling  with  the  quickness  of 
light,  he  fell  heavily  on  his  opponent,  and  caught 
him  by  the  throat  with  both  hands. 

"  'Nough?  "  he  asked,  hoarsely.  It  was  the 
first  word  uttered. 

The  only  answer  was  a  fierce  struggle.  Rome 
felt  the  Lewallen's  teeth  sinking  in  his  arm,  and 
his  fingers  tightened  like  twisting  steel,  till  Jas- 
per caught  his  breath  as  though  strangling  to 
death. 

"  'Nough?  "  asked  the  hoarse  voice  again. 

No  answer;  tighter  clinched  the  fingers.  The 
Lewallen  shook  his  head  feebly ;  his  purple  face 
paled  suddenly  as  Rome  loosed  his  hold,  and  his 
lips  moved  in  a  whisper. 

"'Nought" 

Rome  rose  dizzily  to  one  knee.  Jasper  turned, 
gasping,  and  lay  with  his  face  to  the  rock.  For 
a  while  both  were  quiet,  Rome,  panting  with 
209 


A    CUMBEELAND    VENDETTA 

open  mouth  and  white  with  exhaustion,  looking 
down  now  and  then  at  the  Lewallen,  whose  face 
was  turned  away  with  shame. 

The  sun  was  blazing  above  Wol/'s  Head  now, 
and  the  stillness  about  them  lay  unbroken  on  the 
woods  below. 

"  I've  whooped  ye,  Jas,"  Rome  said,  at  last; 
"  I've  whooped  ye  in  a  fa'r  fight,  'n'  I've 
got  nothin'  now  to  say  'bout  yer  tall  talk,  'n'  I 
reckon  you  hevn't  nuther.  Now,  hit's  under- 
stood, hain't  it,  that  y'u'll  leave  these  mount'ins? 

"  Y'u  kin  go  West,"  he  continued,  as  the  Le- 
wallen did  not  answer.  "  Uncle  Rufe  used  to  say 
thar's  a  good  deal  to  do  out  thar,  'n'  nobody  axes 
questions.  Thar's  nobody  left  hyeh  but  you  'n' 
me,  but  these  mount'ins  was  never  big  'nough 
fer  one  Lewallen  'n'  one  Stetson,  'n'  you've  got 
to  go.  I  reckon  ye  won't  believe  me,  but  I'm 
glad  I  didn't  hev  to  kill  ye.  But  you've  prom- 
ised to  go,  now,  'n'  I'll  take  yer  word  fer  it." 
He  turned  his  face,  and  the  Lewallen,  knowing 
it  from  the  sound  of  his  voice,  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Oh !" 

A  wild  curse  burst  from  Rome's  lips,  and  both 
leaped  for  the  guns.  The  Lewallen  had  the  start 
of  a  few  feet,  and  Rome,  lamed  in  the  fight, 
stumbled  and  fell.  Before  he  could  rise  Jasper 
had  whirled,  with  one  of  the  Winchesters  above 
his  head  and  his  face  aflame  with  fury.  Asking 
210 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

no  mercy,  Rome  hid  his  face  with  one  arm  and 
waited,  stricken  faint  all  at  once,  and  numb.  One 
report  struck  his  ears,  muffled,  whip-like.  A 
dull  wonder  came  to  him  that  the  Lewallen  could 
have  missed  at  such  close  range,  and  he  waited 
for  another.  Some  one  shouted — a  shrill  halloo. 
A  loud  laugh  followed ;  a  light  seemed  breaking 
before  Rome's  eyes,  and  he  lifted  his  head.  Jas- 
per was  on  his  face  again,  motionless ;  and  Steve 
Marcum's  tall  figure  was  climbing  over  a  bowl- 
der toward  him. 

"  That  was  the  best  fight  I've  seed  in  my  time, 
by  God"  he  said,  coolly,  "  'n',  Rome,  y'u  air  the 
biggest  fool  this  side  o'  the  settlements,  I  reckon. 
I  had  dead  aim  on  him,  'n'  I  was  jest  a-thinkin' 
hit  was  a  purty  good  thing  fer  you  that  old  long- 
nosed  Jim  Stover  chased  me  up  hyeh,  when, 
damn  me,  ef  that  boy  up  thar  didn't  let  his  ole 
gun  loose.  I'd  a-got  Jas  myself  ef  he  hadn't 
been  so  all-fired  quick  o'  trigger." 

Up  at  the  root  of  the  pine-tree  Isom  stood 
motionless,  with  his  long  rifle  in  one  hand  and  a 
little  cloud  of  smoke  breaking  above  his  white 
face.  When  Rome  looked  up  he  started  down 
without  a  word.  Steve  swung  himself  over  the 
ledge. 

"  I  heerd  the  shootin',"  said  the  boy,  "  up  thar 
at  the  cave,  'n'  I  couldn't  stay  thar.  I  knowed 
ye  could  whoop  him,  Rome,  'n'  I  seed  Steve,  too, 

21  I 


A    CUMBEKLAKD   VENDETTA 

but  I  was  afeard "  Then  he  saw  the  body. 

His  tongue  stopped,  his  face  shrivelled,  and 
Steve,  hanging  with  one  hand  to  the  ledge, 
watched  him  curiously. 

"  Rome,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  quick  whisper, 
"is  he  daid?" 

"  Come  on !  "  said  Steve,  roughly.  "  They'll 
be  up  hyeh  atter  us  in  a  minute.  Leave  Jas's 
gun  thar,  V  send  that  boy  back  home." 

That  day  the  troops  came — young  Blue  Grass 
Kentuckians.  That  night,  within  the  circle  of 
their  camp-fires,  a  last  defiance  was  cast  in  the 
teeth  of  law  and  order.  Flames  rose  within  the 
old  court-house,  and  before  midnight  the  moon- 
light fell  on  four  black  walls.  That  night,  too, 
the  news  of  young  Jasper's  fate  was  carried  to 
the  death-bed  of  Rome's  mother,  and  before  day 
the  old  woman  passed  In  peace.  That  day  Stet- 
sons and  Lewallens  disbanded.  The  Lewallens 
had  no  leader;  the  Stetsons,  no  enemies  to  fight. 
Some  hid,  some  left  the  mountains,  some  gave 
themselves  up  for  trial.  Upon  Rome  Stetson 
the  burden  fell.  Against  him  the  law  was  set. 
A  price  was  put  on  his  head,  his  house  was 
burned — a  last  act  of  Lewallen  hate — and  Rome 
was  homeless,  the  last  of  his  race,  and  an  out- 
law. 


212 


XIII 

WITH  the  start  of  a  few  hours  and  the 
sympathy  of  his  people  one  mountain- 
eer can  defy  the  army  of  the  United  States;  and 
the  mountaineers  usually  laugh  when  they  hear 
troops  are  coming.  For  the  time  they  stop  fight- 
ing and  hide  in  the  woods;  and  when  the  sol- 
diers are  gone,  they  come  out  again,  and  begin 
anew  their  little  pleasantries.  But  the  soldiers 
can  protect  the  judge  on  his  bench  and  the  county- 
seat  in  time  of  court,  and  for  these  purposes  they 
serve  well. 

The  search  for  Rome  Stetson,  then,  was  use- 
less. His  friends  would  aid  him;  his  enemies 
feared  to  betray  him.  So  the  soldiers  marched 
away  one  morning,  and  took  their  prisoners  for 
safe-keeping  in  the  Blue  Grass,  until  court  should 
open  at  Hazlan. 

Meantime,  spring  came  and  deepened — the 
mountain  spring.  The  berries  of  the  wintergreen 
grew  scarce,  and  Rome  Stetson,  "  hiding  out," 
as  the  phrase  is,  had  to  seek  them  on  the  north- 
ern face  of  the  mountains.  The  moss  on  the 
naked  winter  trees  brightened  in  color,  and  along 
213 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

the  river,  where  willows  drooped,  ran  faint  lines 
of  green.  The  trailing  arbutus  gave  out  delicate 
pink  blossoms,  and  the  south  wind  blew  apart 
the  petals  of  the  anemone.  Soon  violets  unfold- 
ed above  the  dead  leaves;  azaleas  swung  their 
yellow  trumpets  through  the  undergrowth;  over- 
head, the  dogwood  tossed  its  snow-flakes  in  gusts 
through  the  green  and  gold  of  new  leaves  and 
sunlight;  and  higher  still  waved  the  poplar 
blooms,  with  honey  ready  on  every  crimson  heart 
for  the  bees.  Down  in  the  valley  Rome  Stetson 
could  see  about  every  little  cabin  pink  clouds  and 
white  clouds  of  peach  and  of  apple  blossoms. 
Amid  the  ferns  about  him  shade-loving  trilliums 
showed  their  many-hued  faces,  and  every  open- 
ing was  thickly  peopled  with  larkspur  seeking 
the  sun.  The  giant  magnolia  and  the  umbrella- 
tree  spread  their  great  creamy  flowers ;  the  laurel 
shook  out  myriads  of  pink  and  white  bells,  and 
the  queen  of  mountain  flowers  was  stirring  from 
sleep  in  the  buds  of  the  rhododendron. 

With  the  spring  new  forces  pulsed  the  moun- 
tain air.  The  spirit  of  the  times  reached  even 
Hazlan.  A  railroad  was  coming  up  the  river, 
so  the  rumor  was.  When  winter  broke,  survey- 
ors had  appeared;  after  them,  mining  experts 
and  purchasers  of  land.  New  ways  of  bread- 
making  were  open  to  all,  and  the  feudsman  be- 
gan to  see  that  he  could  make  food  and  clothes 
214 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

more  easily  and  with  less  danger  than  by  sleeping 
with  his  rifle  in  the  woods,  and  by  fighting  men 
who  had  done  him  no  harm.  Many  were  tired 
of  fighting;  many,  forced  into  the  feud,  had 
fought  unwillingly.  Others  had  sold  their  farms 
and  wild  lands,  and  were  moving  toward  the 
Blue  Grass  or  westward.  The  desperadoes  of 
each  faction  had  fled  the  law  or  were  in  its 
clutches.  The  last  Lewallen  was  dead;  the  last 
Stetson  was  hidden  away  in  the  mountains. 
There  were  left  Marcums  and  Braytons,  but 
only  those  who  felt  safest  from  indictment;  in 
these  a  spirit  of  hostility  would  live  for  years, 
and,  roused  by  passion  or  by  drink,  would  do 
murder  now  on  one  side  of  the  Cumberland  and 
now  on  the  other;  but  the  Stetson-Lewallen  feud, 
old  Gabe  believed,  was  at  an  end  at  last. 

All  these  things  the  miller  told  Rome  Stetson, 
who  well  knew  what  they  meant.  He  was  safe 
enough  from  the  law  while  the  people  took  no 
part  in  his  capture,  but  he  grew  apprehensive 
when  he  learned  of  the  changes  going  on  in  the 
valley.  None  but  old  Gabe  knew  where  he  was, 
to  be  sure,  but  with  his  own  enemies  to  guide  the 
soldiers  he  could  not  hope  to  remain  hidden  long. 
Still,  with  that  love  of  the  mountains  character- 
istic of  all  races  born  among  them,  he  clung  to 
his  own  land.  He  would  rather  stay  where  he 
was  the  space  of  a  year  and  die,  he  told  old  Gabe 
215 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

passionately,  than  live  to  old  age  in  another 
State. 

But  there  was  another  motive,  and  he  did  not 
hide  it.  On  the  other  side  he  had  one  enemy 
left — the  last,  too,  of  her  race — who  was  more 
to  him  than  his  own  dead  kindred,  who  hated 
him,  who  placed  at  his  door  all  her  sorrows. 
For  her  he  was  living  like  a  wolf  in  a  cave,  and 
old  Gabe  knew  it.  Her — he  would  not  leave. 

"  I  tell  ye,  Rome,  you've  got  to  go.  Thar's 
no  use  talkin'.  Court  comes  the  fust  Monday 
in  June.  The  soldiers  ull  be  hyeh.  Hit  won't 
be  safe.  Thar's  some  that  s'picions  I  know  whar 
ye  air  now,  'n'  they'll  be  spyin',  'n'  mebbe  hit'll 
git  me  into  trouble,  too,  aidin'  'n'  abettin'  a  man 
to  git  away  who  air  boun'  to  the  law." 

The  two  were  sitting  on  the  earthen  floor  of 
the  cave  before  a  little  fire,  and  Rome,  with  his 
hands  about  his  knees  and  his  brows  knitted,  was 
staring  into  the  yellow  blaze.  His  unshorn  hair 
fell  to  his  shoulders;  his  face  was  pale  from  in- 
sufficient food  and  exercise,  and  tense  with  a  look 
that  was  at  once  caged  and  defiant. 

"  Uncle  Gabe,"  he  asked,  quietly,  for  the  old 
man's  tone  was  a  little  querulous,  "  air  ye  sorry 
ye  holped  me?  Do  ye  blame  me  fer  whut  I've 
done?" 

"  No,"  said  the  old  miller,  answering  both 
questions ;  "  I  don't.  I  believe  whut  ye  tol'  me. 
216 


A    CUMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

Though,  even  ef  ye  had  'a'  done  it,  I  don't 
know  as  I'd  blame  ye,  seein'  that  it  was  a  fa'r 
fight.  I  don't  doubt  he  was  doin'  his  best  to  kill 
you." 

Rome  turned  quickly,  his  face  puzzled  and 
darkening. 

"  Uncle  Gabe,  whut  air  you  drivin'  at?  "  The 
old  man  spat  into  the  fire,  and  shifted  his  posi- 
tion uneasily,  as  Rome's  hand  caught  his  knee. 

"  Well,  ef  I  have  to  tell  ye,  I  s'pose  I  must. 
Thar's  been  nothin'  pertickler  ag'in  ye  so  fer, 
'cept  fer  breakin'  that  confederatin'  statute  'bout 
bandin'  fightin'  men  together;  'n'  nobody  was 
very  anxious  to  git  hoi'  o'  ye  jes  fer  that,  but 
now  " — the  old  man  stopped  a  moment,  for 
Rome's  eyes  were  kindling — "  they  say  that  ye 
killed  Jas  Lewallen,  'n'  that  ye  air  a  murderer; 
'n'  hit  air  powerful  strange  how  all  of  a  suddint 
folks  seem  to  be  gittin'  down  on  a  man  as  kills 
his  f ellow-creetur ;  'n'  now  they  means  to  hunt 
ye  till  they  ketch  ye." 

It  was  all  out  now,  and  the  old  man  was  re- 
lieved. Rome  rose  to  his  feet,  and  in  sheer 
agony  of  spirit  paced  the  floor. 

"  I  tol1  ye,  Uncle  Gabe,  that  I  didn't  kill 
him." 

"  So  ye  did,  'n'  I  believe  ye.  But  a  feller  seed 
you  'n'  Steve  comin'  from  the  place  whar  Jas 
was  found  dead,  'n'  whar  the  dirt  'n'  rock  was 
217 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

throwed  about  as  by  two  bucks  in  spring-time. 
Steve  says  he  didn't  do  it,  'n'  he  wouldn't  say 
you  didn't.  Looks  to  me  like  Steve  did  the 
killin',  'n'  was  lyin'  a  leetle.  He  hain't  goin'  to 
confess  hit  to  save  your  neck;  'n'  he  can't  no  way, 
fer  he  hev  lit  out  o'  these  mount'ins — long  ago." 

If  Steve  was  out  of  danger,  suspicion  could 
not  harm  him,  and  Rome  said  nothing. 

"  Isom's  got  the  lingerin'  fever  ag'in,  'n'  he's 
out'n  his  head.  He's  ravin'  'bout  that  fight. 
Looks  like  ye  tol'  him  'bout  it.  He  says,  *  Don't 
tell  Uncle  Gabe';  'n'  he  keeps  sayin'  it.  Hit'll 
'most  kill  him  ef  you  go  'way;  but  he  wants  ye 
to  git  out  o'  the  mount'ins ;  'n',  Rome,  you've  got 
to  go." 

"  Who  was  it,  Uncle  Gabe,  that  seed  me  'n' 
Steve  comin'  'way  from  thar?  " 

"  He  air  the  same  feller  who  hev  been  spyin* 
ye  all  the  time  this  war's  been  goin'  on;  hit's 
that  dried-faced,  snaky  Eli  Crump,  who  ye 
knocked  down  'n'  choked  up  in  Hazlan  one  day 
fer  sayin'  something  ag'in  Isom." 

"  I  knowed  it — I  knowed  it — oh,  ef  I  could 
git  my  fingers  roun'  his  throat  once  more — jes 
once  more — I'd  be  'mos'  ready  to  die." 

He  stretched  out  his  hands  as  he  strode  back 

and  forth,  with  his  fingers  crooked  like  talons; 

his  shadow  leaped  from  wall  to  wall,  and  his 

voice,  filling  the  cave,    was,    for  the  moment, 

218 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

scarcely  human.  The  old  man  waited  till  the 
paroxysm  was  over  and  Rome  had  again  sunk 
before  the  fire. 

"  Hit  Vd  do  no  good,  Rome,"  he  said,  rising 
to  go.  '  You've  got  enough  on  ye  now,  without 
the  sin  o'  takin'  his  life.  You  better  make  up 
yer  mind  to  leave  the  mount'ins  now  right  'way. 
You're  a-gittin'  no  more'n  half-human,  livin'  up 
hyeh  like  a  catamount.  I  don't  see  how  ye  kin 
stand  it.  Thar's  no  hope  o'  things  blowin'  over, 
boy,  'n'  givin'  ye  a  chance  o'  comin'  out  ag'in, 
as  yer  dad  and  yer  grandad  usen  to  do  afore  ye. 
The  citizens  air  gittin'  tired  o'  these  wars.  They 
keeps  out  the  furriners  who  makes  roads  'n'  buys 
lands;  they  air  ag'in'  the  law,  ag'in'  religion, 
ag'in'  yo'  pocket,  'n'  ag'in'  mine.  Lots  o'  folks 
hev  been  ag'in'  all  this  fightin'  fer  a  long  time, 
but  they  was  too  skeery  to  say  so.  They  air 
talkin'  mighty  big  now,  seein'  they  kin  git  sol- 
diers hyeh  to  perfect  'em.  So  ye  mought  as  well 
give  up  the  idea  o'  staying  hyeh,  'less'n  ye  want 
to  give  yourself  up  to  the  law." 

The  two  stepped  from  the  cave,  and  passed 
through  the  rhododendrons  till  they  stood  on  the 
cliff  overlooking  the  valley.  The  rich  light  lay 
like  a  golden  mist  between  the  mountains,  and 
through  it,  far  down,  the  river  moaned  like  the 
wind  of  a  coming  storm. 

11  Did  ye  tell  the  gal  whut  I  tol'  ye?  " 
219 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

"  Yes,  Rome ;  hit  wasn't  no  use.  She  says 
Steve's  word's  as  good  as  yourn ;  'n'  she  knowed 
about  the  crosses.  Folks  say  she  swore  awful 
ag'in'  ye  at  young  Jas's  burial,  'lowin'  that  she'd 
hunt  ye  down  herse'f,  ef  the  soldiers  didn't  ketch 
ye.  I  hain't  seed  her  sence  she  got  sick;  'pears 
like  ever'body's  sick.  Mebbe  she's  a  leetle  set- 
tled down  now — no  tellin'.  No  use  foolin'  with 
her,  Rome.  You  git  away  from  hyeh.  Don't 
you  worry  'bout  Isom — I'll  take  keer  o'  him,  'n' 
when  he  gits  well,  he'll  want  to  come  atter  ye, 
'n'  I'll  let  him  go.  He  couldn't  live  hyeh  with- 
out you.  But  y'u  must  git  away,  Rome,  'n'  git 
away  mighty  quick." 

With  hands  clasped  behind  him,  Rome  stood 
and  watched  the  bent  figure  slowly  pick  its  way 
around  the  stony  cliff. 

"  I  reckon  I've  got  to  go.  She's  ag'in'  me; 
they're  all  ag'in'  me.  I  reckon  I've  jes  got  to  go. 

Somehow,  I've  been  kinder  hopin' "  He 

closed  his  lips  to  check  the  groan  that  rose  to 
them,  and  turned  again  into  the  gloom  behind 
him. 


220 


XIV 

JUNE  came.  The  wild  rose  swayed  above  its 
image  along  every  little  shadowed  stream, 
and  the  scent  of  wild  gra  oes  was  sweet  in  the  air 
and  as  vagrant  as  a  bluebird's  note  in  autumn. 
The  rhododendrons  burst  into  beauty,  making 
gray  ridge  and  gray  cliff  blossom  with  purple, 
hedging  streams  with  snowy  clusters  and  shining 
leaves,  and  lighting  up  dark  coverts  in  the  woods 
as  with  white  stars.  The  leaves  were  full,  wood- 
thrushes  sang,  and  bees  droned  like  unseen  run- 
ning water  in  the  woods. 

With  June  came  circuit  court  once  more — and 
the  soldiers.  Faint  music  pierced  the  dreamy 
chant  of  the  river  one  morning  as  Rome  lay  on  a 
bowlder  in  the  summer  sun ;  and  he  watched  the 
guns  flashing  like  another  stream  along  the  wa- 
ter, and  then  looked  again  to  the  Lewallen  cabin. 
Never,  morning,  noon,  or  night,  when  he  came 
from  the  rhododendrons,  or  when  they  closed 
about  him,  did  he  fail  to  turn  his  eyes  that  way. 
Often  he  would  see  a  bright  speck  moving  about 
the  dim  lines  of  the  cabin,  and  he  would  scarcely 
breathe  while  he  watched  it,  so  easily  would  it 

221 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

disappear.  Always  he  had  thought  it  was  Mar- 
tha, and  now  he  knew  it  was,  for  the  old  miller 
had  told  him  more  of  the  girl,  and  had  wrung 
his  heart  with  pity.  She  had  been  ill  a  long 
while.  The  "  furriners  "  had  seized  old  Jasper's 
cabin  and  land.  The  girl  was  homeless,  and 
she  did  not  know  it,  for  no  one  had  the  heart  to 
tell  her.  She  was  living  with  the  Braytons ;  and 
every  day  she  went  to  the  cabin,  "  moonin'  'n' 
sorrowin'  arpun',"  as  old  Gabe  said;  and  she  was 
much  changed. 

Once  more  the  miller  came — for  the  last  time, 
he  said,  firmly.  Crump  had  trailed  him,  and 
had  learned  where  Rome  was.  The  search  would 
begin  next  day — perhaps  that  very  night — and 
Crump  would  guide  the  soldiers.  Now  he  must 
go,  and  go  quickly.  The  boy,  too,  sent  word 
that  unless  Rome  went,  he  would  have  something 
to  tell.  Old  Gabe  saw  no  significance  in  the  mes- 
sage ;  but  he  had  promised  to  deliver  it,  and  he 
did.  Rome  wavered  then;  Steve  and  himself 
gone,  no  suspicion  would  fall  on  the  lad.  If  he 
were  caught,  the  boy  might  confess.  With 
silence  Rome  gave  assent,  and  the  two  parted  in 
an  apathy  that  was  like  heartlessness.  Only  old 
Gabe's  shrunken  breast  heaved  with  something 
more  than  weariness  of  descent,  and  Rome  stood 
watching  him  a  long  time  before  he  turned  back 
to  the  cave  that  had  sheltered  him  from  his 

222 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

enemies  among  beasts  and  men.  In  a  moment  he 
came  out  for  the  last  time,  and  turned  the  oppo- 
site way.  Climbing  about  the  spur,  he  made  for 
the  path  that  led  down  to  the  river.  When  he 
reached  it  he  glanced  at  the  sun,  and  stopped 
in  indecision.  Straight  above  him  was  a  knoll, 
massed  with  rhododendrons,  the  flashing  leaves 
of  which  made  it  like  a  great  sea-wave  in  the 
slanting  sun,  while  the  blooms  broke  slowly 
down  over  it  like  foam.  Above  this  was  a  gray 
sepulchre  of  dead,  standing  trees/ more  gaunt 
and  spectre-like  than  ever,  with  the  rich  life  of 
summer  about  it.  Higher  still  were  a  dark  belt 
of  stunted  firs  and  the  sandstone  ledge,  and  above 
these — home.  He  was  risking  his  liberty,  his 
life.  Any  clump  of  bushes  might  bristle  sud- 
denly with  Winchesters.  If  the  soldiers  sought 
for  him  at  the  cave  they  would  at  the  same  time 
guard  the  mountain  paths;  they  would  guard, 
too,  the  Stetson  cabin.  But  no  matter — the  sun 
was  still  high,  and  he  turned  up  the  steep.  The 
ledge  passed,  he  stopped  with  a  curse  at  his  lips 
and  the  pain  of  a  knife-thrust  at  his  heart.  A 
heap  of  blackened  stones  and  ashes  was  before 
him.  The  wild  mountain-grass  was  growing  up 
about  it.  The  bee-gums  were  overturned  and 
rifled.  The  garden  was  a  tangled  mass  of  weeds. 
The  graves  in  the  little  family  burying-ground 
were  unprotected,  the  fence  was  gone,  and  no 
223 


boards  marked  the  last  two  ragged  mounds.  Old 
Gabe  had  never  told  him.  He,  too,  like  Martha, 
was  homeless,  and  the  old  miller  had  been  kind 
to  him,  as  the  girl's  kinspeople  had  been  to  her. 

For  a  long  while  he  sat  on  the  remnant  of 
the  burned  and  broken  fence,  and  once  more  the 
old  tide  of  bitterness  rose  within  him  and  ebbed 
away.  There  were  none  left  to  hate,  to  wreak 
vengeance  on.  It  was  hard  to  leave  the  ruins  as 
they  were ;  and  yet  he  would  rather  leave  weeds 
and  ashes  than,  like  Martha,  have  some  day  to 
know  that  his  home  was  in  the  hands  of  a  stran- 
ger. When  he  thought  of  the  girl  he  grew 
calmer;  his  own  sorrows  gave  way  to  the  thought 
of  hers;  and  half  from  habit  he  raised  his  face 
to  look  across  the  river.  Two  eagles  swept  from 
a  dark  ravine  under  the  shelf  of  rock  where  he 
had  fought  young  Jasper,  and  made  for  a  sun- 
lighted  peak  on  the  other  shore.  From  them  his 
gaze  fell  to  Wolf's  Head  and  to  the  cabin  be- 
neath, and  a  name  passed  his  lips  in  a  whisper. 

Then  he  took  the  path  to  the  river,  and  he 
found  the  canoe  where  old  Gabe  had  hidden  it. 
Before  the  young  moon  rose  he  pushed  into  the 
stream  and  drifted  with  the  current.  At  the 
mouth  of  the  creek  that  ran  over  old  Gabe's  wa- 
ter-wheel he  turned  the  prow  to  the  Lewallen 
shore. 

"  Not  yit !    Not  yit !  "  he  said. 
224 


XV 

THAT  night  Rome  passed  in  the  woods, 
with  his  rifle,  in  a  bed  of  leaves.  Before 
daybreak  he  had  built  a  fire  in  a  deep  ravine  to 
cook  his  breakfast,  and  had  scattered  the  embers 
that  the  smoke  should  give  no  sign.  The  sun  was 
high  when  he  crept  cautiously  in  sight  of  the 
Lewallen  cabin.  It  was  much  like  his  own  home 
on  the  other  shore,  except  that  the  house,  closed 
and  desolate,  was  standing,  and  the  bees  were 
busy.  At  the  corner  of  the  kitchen  a  rusty  axe 
was  sticking  in  a  half-cut  piece  of  timber,  and 
on  the  porch  was  a  heap  of  kindling  and  fire 
wood — the  last  work  old  Jasper  and  his  son  had 
ever  done.  In  the  Lewallens'  garden,  also,  two 
graves  were  fresh ;  and  the  spirit  of  neglect  and 
ruin  overhung  the  place. 

All  the  morning  he  waited  in  the  edge  of  the 
laurel,  peering  down  the  path,  watching  the 
clouds  race  with  their  shadows  over  the  moun- 
tains, or  pacing  to  and  fro  in  his  covert  of  leaves 
and  flowers.  He  began  to  fear  at  last  that  she 
was  not  coming,  that  she  was  ill,  and  once  he 
started  down  the  mountain  toward  Steve  Bray- 
225 


A    CUMBEKLAND    VENDETTA 

ton's  cabin.  The  swift  descent  brought  him  to 
his  senses,  and  he  stopped  half-way,  and  climbed 
back  again  to  his  hiding-place.  What  he  was 
doing,  what  he  meant  to  do,  he  hardly  knew. 
Mid-day  passed;  the  sun  fell  toward  the  moun- 
tains, and  once  more  came  the  fierce  impulse  to 
see  her,  even  though  he  must  stalk  into  the  Bray- 
ton  cabin.  Again,  half-crazed,  he  started  im- 
petuously through  the  brush,  and  shrank  back, 
and  stood  quiet.  A  little  noise  down  the  path 
had  reached  his  ear.  In  a  moment  he  could  hear 
slow  foot-falls,  and  the  figure  of  the  girl  parted 
the  pink-and-white  laurel  blossoms,  which  fell 
in  a  shower  about  her  when  she  brushed  through 
them.  She  passed  quite  near  him,  walking  slow- 
ly, and  stopped  for  a  moment  to  rest  against  a 
pillar  of  the  porch.  She  was  very  pale ;  her  face 
was  traced  deep  with  suffering,  and  she  was,  as 
old  Gabe  said,  much  changed.  Then  she  went 
on  toward  the  garden,  stepping  with  an  effort 
over  the  low  fence,  and  leaned  as  if  weak  and 
tired  against  the  apple-tree,  the  boughs  of  which 
shaded  the  two  graves  at  her  feet.  For  a  few 
moments  she  stood  there,  listless,  and  Rome 
watched  her  with  hungry  eyes,  at  a  loss  what 
to  do.  She  moved  presently,  and  walked  quite 
around  the  graves  without  looking  at  them ;  then 
came  back  past  him,  and,  seating  herself  in  the 
porch,  turned  her  face  to  the  river.  The  sun 
226 


A    CUMBERLAND    VENDETTA 

lighted  her  hair,   and  in  the  sunken,   upturned 
eyes  Rome  saw  the  shimmer  of  tears. 

"  Marthy !  "  He  couldn't  help  it — the  thick, 
low  cry  broke  like  a  groan  from  his  lips,  and  the 
girl  was  on  her  feet,  facing  him.  She  did  not 
know  the  voice,  nor  the  shaggy,  half-wild  figure 
in  the  shade  of  the  laurel;  and  she  started  back 
as  if  to  run;  but  seeing  that  the  man  did  not 
mean  to  harm  her,  she  stopped,  looking  for  a 
moment  with  wonder  and  even  with  quick  pity 
at  the  hunted  face  with  its  white  appeal.  Then 
a  sudden  spasm  caught  her  throat,  and  left  her 
body  rigid,  her  hands  shut,  and  her  eyes  dry  and 
hard — she  knew  him.  A  slow  pallor  drove  the 
flush  of  surprise  from  her  face,  and  her  lips 
moved  once,  but  there  was  not  even  a  whisper 
from  them.  Rome  raised  one  hand  before  his 
face,  as  though  to  ward  off  something.  "  Don't 
look  at  me  that  way,  Marthy — my  God,  don't! 
I  didn't  kill  him.  I  sw'ar  it!  I  give  him  a 
chance  fer  his  life.  I  know,  I  know — Steve  says 
he  didn't.  Thar  was  only  us  two.  Hit  looks 
ag'in'  me;  but  I  hain't  killed  one  nur  t'other.  I 
let  'em  both  go.  Y'u  don't  believe  me?  "  He 
went  swiftly  toward  her,  his  gun  outstretched. 
"  Hyeh,  gal !  I  heerd  ye  swore  ag'in'  me  out 
thar  in  the  gyarden — 'lowin'  that  you  was  goin' 
to  hunt  me  down  yerself  if  the  soldiers  didn't. 
Hyeh's  yer  chance  I  " 

227 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

The  girl  shrank  away  from  him,  too  startled 
to  take  the  weapon;  and  he  leaned  it  against 
her,  and  stood  away,  with  his  hands  behind 
him. 

"  Kill  me  ef  ye  think  I'm  a-lyin'  to  ye,"  he 
said.  "  Y'u  kin  git  even  with  me  now.  But  I 
want  to  tell  ye  fust " — the  girl  had  caught  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun  convulsively,  and  was  bending 
over  it,  her  eyes  burning,  her  face  inscrutable — 
"  hit  was  a  fa'r  fight  betwixt  us,  'n'  I  whooped 
him.  He  got  his  gun  then,  'n'  would  'a'  killed 
me  ag'in'  his  oath  ef  he  hadn't  been  shot  fust. 
Hit's  so,  too,  'bout  the  crosses.  I  made  'em; 
they're  right  thar  on  that  gun ;  but  whut  could  I 
do  with  mam  a-standin'  right  thar  with  the  gun 
'n'  Uncle  Rufe  a-tellin'  'bout  my  own  dad  layin' 
in  his  blood,  'n'  Isom  'n'  the  boys  lookin'  on! 
But  I  went  ag'in'  my  oath;  I  gave  him  his  life 
when  I  had  the  right  to  take  it.  I  could  'a' 
killed  yer  dad  once,  'n'  I  had  the  right  to  kill 
him,  too,  fer  killin'  mine;  but  I  let  him  go,  'n'  I 
reckon  I  done  that  fer  ye,  too.  'Pears  like  I 
hain't  done  nothin'  sence  I  seed  ye  over  thar  in 
the  mill  that  day  that  wasn't  done  fer  ye.  Some- 
how ye  put  me  dead  ag'in'  my  own  kin,  'n'  tuk 
away  all  my  hate  ag'in'  yourn.  I  couldn't 
fight  fer  thinkin'  I  was  fightin'  you,  'n'  when  I 
seed  ye  comin'  through  the  bushes  jes  now,  so 
white  'n'  sickly-like,  I  couldn't  hardly  git  breath, 
228 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

a-thinkin*  I  was  the  cause  of  all  yer  misery. 
That's  all ! "  He  stretched  out  his  arms. 
"  Shoot,  gal,  ef  ye  don't  believe  me.  I'd  jes 
as  lieve  die,  ef  ye  thinks  I'm  lyin'  to  ye,  V  ef 
ye  hates  me  fer  whut  I  hain't  done." 

The  gun  had  fallen  to  the  earth.  The  girl, 
trembling  at  the  knees,  sank  to  her  seat  on 
the  porch,  and,  folding  her  arms  against  the 
pillar,  pressed  her  forehead  against  them,  her 
face  unseen.  Rome  stooped  to  pick  up  the 
weapon. 

"I'm  goin'  'way  now,"  he  went  on,  slowly, 
after  a  little  pause,  "  but  I  couldn't  leave  hyeh 
without  seein'  you.  I  wanted  ye  to  know  the 
truth,  'n'  I  'lowed  yVd  believe  me  ef  I  toF  ye 
myself.  I've  been  a-waitin'  thar  in  the  lorrel 
fer  ye  sence  mornin'.  Uncle  Gabe  toF  me  ye 
come  hyeh  ever'  day.  He  says  I've  got  to  go. 
I've  been  hopin'  I  mought  come  out  o'  the  bushes 
some  day.  But  Uncle  Gabe  says  ever'body's 
ag'in'  me  more'n  ever,  'n'  that  the  soldiers  mean 
to  ketch  me.  The  gov'ner  out  thar  in  the  settle- 
ments says  as  how  he'll  give  five  hundred  dollars 
fer  me,  livin'  or  dead.  He'll  nuver  git  me  livin' 
— I've  swore  that — 'n'  as  I  hev  done  nothin' 
sech  as  folks  on  both  sides  hev  done  who  air 
walkin'  roun'  free,  I  hain't  goin'  to  give  up. 
Hit's  purty  hard  to  leave  these  mount'ins. 
Reckon  I'll  nuver  see  'em  ag'in.  Been  livin' 
229 


A   CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

like  a  catamount  over  thar  on  the  knob.  I  could 
jes  see  you  over  hyeh,  V  I  reckon  I  hain't 
done  much  'cept  lay  over  thar  on  a  rock  'n'  watch 
ye  movin'  round.  Hit's  mighty  good  to  feel 
that  ye  believe  me,  'n'  I  want  ye  to  know  that  I 
been  stayin'  over  thar  fer  nothin'  on  earth  but 
jes  to  see  you  ag'in;  'n1  I  want  ye  to  know  that 
I  was  a-sorrowin'  fer  ye  when  y'u  was  sick, 
V  a-pinin'  to  see  ye,  'n'  a-hopin'  some  day  y'u 
mought  kinder  git  over  yer  hate  fer  me."  He 
had  been  talking  with  low  tenderness,  half  to 
himself,  and  with  his  face  to  the  river,  and  he 
did  not  see  the  girl's  tears  falling  to  the  porch. 
Her  sorrow  gave  way  in  a  great  sob  now,  and 
he  turned  with  sharp  remorse,  and  stood  quite 
near  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  Marthy,"  he  said.  "  God  knows 
hit's  hard  to  think  I've  brought  all  this  on  ye 
when  I'd  give  all  these  mount'ins  to  save  ye  from 
it.  Whut  d'  ye  say?  Don't  cry." 

The  girl  was  trying  to  speak  at  last,  and  Rome 
bent  over  to  catch  the  words. 

"  I  hain't  cryin'  fer  myself,"  she  said,  faintly, 
and  then  she  said  no  more;  but  the  first  smile 
that  had  passed  over  Rome's  face  for  many  a  day 
passed  then,  and  he  put  out  one  big  hand,  and 
let  it  rest  on  the  heap  of  lustrous  hair. 

"  Marthy,  I  hate  to  go  'way,  leavin'  ye  hyeh 
with  nobody  to  take  keer  o'  ye.  You're  all  alone 
230 


A    CUMBERLAND   VENDETTA 

hyeh  in  the  mount'ins ;  I'm  all  alone ;  V  I  reckon 
I'll  be  all  alone  wharever  I  go,  ef  you  stay  hyeh. 
I  got  a  boat  down  thar  on  the  river,  V  I'm  goin' 
out  West  whar  Uncle  Rufe  use  to  live.  I  know 
I  hain't  good  fer  nothin'  much  " — he  spoke  al- 
most huskily ;  he  could  scarcely  get  the  words  to 
his  lips — "  but  I  want  ye  to  go  with  me.  Won't 
ye?" 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  but  her  sobbing 
ceased  slowly,  while  Rome  stroked  her  hair; 
and  at  last  she  lifted  her  face,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment looked  to  the  other  shore.  Then  she  rose. 
There  is  a  strange  pride  in  the  Kentucky  moun- 
taineer. 

"  As  you  say,  Rome,  thar's  nobody  left  but 
you,  V  nobody  but  me ;  but  they  burned  you  out, 
V  we  hain't  even — yit."  Her  eyes  were  on 
Thunderstruck  Knob,  where  the  last  sunlight 
used  to  touch  the  Stetson  cabin. 

"  Hyeh,  Rome  1  "  He  knew  what  she  meant, 
and  he  kneeled  at  the  pile  of  kindling-wood  near 
the  kitchen  door.  Then  they  stood  back  and 
waited.  The  sun  dipped  below  a  gap  in  the 
mountains,  the  sky  darkened,  and  the  flames  rose 
to  the  shingled  porch,  and  leaped  into  the  gath- 
ering dusk.  On  the  outer  edge  of  the  quivering 
light,  where  it  touched  the  blossomed  laurel,  the 
two  stood  till  the  blaze  caught  the  eaves  of  the 
cabin;  and  then  they  turned  their  faces  where, 
231 


A    CUMBEKLAND   VENDETTA 

burning  to  ashes  in  the  west,  was  another  fire, 
whose  light  blended  in  the  eyes  of  each  with  a 
light  older  and  more  lasting  than  its  own — the 
light  eternal. 


THE  END 


232 


THE   LAST  STETSON 


A  MIDSUMMER  freshet  was  running  over 
old  Gabe  Bunch's  water-wheel  into  the 
Cumberland.  Inside  the  mill  Steve  Marcum 
lay  in  one  dark  corner  with  a  slouched  hat  over 
his  face.  The  boy  Isom  was  emptying  a  sack 
of  corn  into  the  hopper.  Old  Gabe  was  speak- 
ing his  mind. 

Always  the  miller  had  been  a  man  of  peace; 
and  there  was  one  time  when  he  thought  the  old 
Stetson-Lewallen  feud  was  done.  That  was 
when  Rome  Stetson,  the  last  but  one  of  his 
name,  and  Jasper  Lewallen,  the  last  but  one  of 
his,  put  their  guns  down  and  fought  with  bare 
fists  on  a  high  ledge  above  old  Gabe's  mill  one 
morning  at  daybreak.  The  man  who  was  beat- 
en was  to  leave  the  mountains;  the  other  was  to 
stay  at  home  and  have  peace.  Steve  Marcum, 
a  Stetson,  heard  the  sworn  terms  and  saw  the 
fight.  Jasper  was  fairly  whipped;  and  when 
Rome  let  him  up  he  proved  treacherous  and  ran 
for  his  gun.  Rome  ran  too,  but  stumbled  and 
fell.  Jasper  whirled  with  his  Winchester  and 
was  about  to  kill  Rome  where  he  lay,  when  a 
235 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

bullet  came  from  somewhere  and  dropped  him 
back  to  the  ledge  again.  Both  Steve  Marcum 
and  Rome  Stetson  said  they  had  not  fired  the 
shot;  neither  would  say  who  had.  Some 
thought  one  man  was  lying,  some  thought  the 
other  was,  and  Jasper's  death  lay  between  the 
two.  State  troops  came  then,  under  the  Gov- 
ernor's order,  from  the  Blue  Grass,  and  Rome 
had  to  drift  down  the  river  one  night  in  old 
Gabe's  canoe  and  on  out  of  the  mountains  for 
good.  Martha  Lewallen,  who,  though  Jas- 
per's sister,  and  the  last  of  the  name,  loved  and 
believed  Rome,  went  with  him.  Marcums  and 
Braytons  who  had  taken  sides  in  the  fight  hid  in 
the  bushes  around  Hazlan,  or  climbed  over  into 
Virginia.  A  railroad  started  up  the  Cumber- 
land. "  Furriners  "  came  in  to  buy  wild  lands 
and  get  out  timber.  Civilization  began  to  press 
over  the  mountains  and  down  on  Hazlan,  as  it 
had  pressed  in  on  Breathitt,  the  seat  of  another 
feud,  in  another  county.  In  Breathitt  the  feud 
was  long  past,  and  with  good  reason  old  Gabe 
thought  that  it  was  done  in  Hazlan. 

But  that  autumn  a  panic  started  over  from 
England.  It  stopped  the  railroad  far  down 
the  Cumberland;  it  sent  the  "  furriners  "  home, 
and  drove  civilization  back.  Marcums  and 
Braytons  came  in  from  hiding,  and  drifted  one 
by  one  to  the  old  fighting-ground.  In  time  they 
236 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

took  up  the  old  quarrel,  and  with  Steve  Mar- 
cum  and  Steve  Brayton  as  leaders,  the  old  Stet- 
son-Lewallen  feud  went  on,  though  but  one  soul 
was  left  in  the  mountains  of  either  name.  That 
was  Isom,  a  pale  little  fellow  whom  Rome  had 
left  in  old  Gabe's  care ;  and  he,  though  a  Stetson 
and  a  half-brother  to  Rome,  was  not  counted, 
because  he  was  only  a  boy  and  a  foundling,  and 
because  his  ways  were  queer. 

There  was  no  open  rupture,  no  organized 
division — that  might  happen  no  more.  The 
mischief  was  individual  now,  and  ambushing 
was  more  common.  Certain  men  were  looking 
for  each  other,  and  it  was  a  question  of  "  draw- 
in'  quick  V  shootin'  quick  "  when  the  two  met 
by  accident,  or  of  getting  the  advantage  "  from 
the  bresh." 

In  time  Steve  Marcum  had  come  face  to  face 
with  old  Steve  Brayton  in  Hazlan,  and  the  two 
Steves,  as  they  were  known,  drew  promptly. 
Marcum  was  in  the  dust  when  the  smoke  cleared 
away;  and  now,  after  three  months  in  bed,  he 
was  just  out  again.  He  had  come  down  to  the 
mill  to  see  Isom.  This  was  the  miller's  first 
chance  for  remonstrance,  and,  as  usual,  he  be- 
gan to  lay  it  down  that  every  man  who  had 
taken  a  human  life  must  sooner  or  later  pay  for 
it  with  his  own.  It  was  an  old  story  to  Isom, 
and,  with  a  shake  of  impatience,  he  turned  out 
237 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

the  door  of  the  mill,  and  left  old  Gabe  droning 
on  under  his  dusty  hat  to  Steve,  who,  being 
heavy  with  "  moonshine,"  dropped  asleep. 

Outside  the  sun  was  warm,  the  flood  was  call- 
ing from  the  dam,  and  the  boy's  petulance  was 
gone  at  once.  For  a  moment  he  stood  on  the 
rude  platform  watching  the  tide;  then  he  let 
one  bare  foot  into  the  water,  and,  with  a  shiver 
of  delight,  dropped  from  the  boards.  In  a 
moment  his  clothes  were  on  the  ground  behind 
a  laurel  thicket,  and  his  slim  white  body  was 
flashing  like  a  faun  through  the  reeds  and 
bushes  up  stream.  A  hundred  yards  away  the 
creek  made  a  great  loop  about  a  wet  thicket  of 
pine  and  rhododendron,  and  he  turned  across 
the  bushy  neck.  Creeping  through  the  gnarled 
bodies  of  rhododendron,  he  dropped  suddenly 
behind  the  pine,  and  lay  flat  in  the  black  earth. 
Ten  yards  through  the  dusk  before  him  was  the 
half-bent  figure  of  a  man  letting  an  old  army 
haversack  slip  from  one  shoulder;  and  Isom 
watched  him  hide  it  with  a  rifle  under  a  bush, 
and  go  noiselessly  on  towards  the  road.  It 
was  Crump,  Eli  Crump,  who  had  been  a  spy  for 
the  Lewallens  in  the  old  feud  and  who  was  spy- 
ing now  for  old  Steve  Brayton.  It  was  the 
second  time  Isom  had  seen  him  lurking  about, 
and  the  boy's  impulse  was  to  hurry  back  to  the 
mill.  But  it  was  still  peace,  and  without  his 
238 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

gun  Crump  was  not  dangerous;  so  Isom  rose 
and  ran  on,  and,  splashing  into  the  angry  little 
stream,  shot  away  like  a  roll  of  birch  bark 
through  the  tawny  crest  of  a  big  wave.  He 
had  done  the  feat  a  hundred  times;  he  knew 
every  rock  and  eddy  in  flood-time,  and  he 
floated  through  them  and  slipped  like  an 
eel  into  the  mill-pond.  Old  Gabe  was  waiting 
for  him. 

"  Whut  ye  mean,  boy,"  he  said,  sharply, 
"  reskin'  the  fever  an'  ager  this  way?  No 
wonder  folks  thinks  ye  air  half  crazy.  Git 
inter  them  clothes  now  V  come  in  hyeh.  You'll 
ketch  yer  death  o'  cold  swimmin'  this  way  atter 
a  fresh." 

The  boy  was  shivering  when  he  took  his  seat 
at  the  funnel,  but  he  did  not  mind  that;  some 
day  he  meant  to  swim  over  that  dam.  Steve  still 
lay  motionless  in  the  corner  near  him,  and  Isom 
lifted  the  slouched  hat  and  began  tickling  his 
lips  with  a  straw.  Steve  was  beyond  the  point 
of  tickling,  and  Isom  dropped  the  hat  back  and 
turned  to  tell  the  miller  what  he  had  seen  in  the 
thicket.  The  dim  interior  darkened  just  then, 
and  Crump  stood  in  the  door.  Old  Gabe  stared 
hard  at  him  without  a  word  of  welcome,  but 
Crump  shuffled  to  a  chair  unasked,  and  sat  like 
a  toad  astride  it,  with  his  knees  close  up  under 
his  arms,  and  his  wizened  face  in  his  hands. 
239 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

Meeting  Isom's  angry  glance,  he  shifted  his 
own  uneasily. 

"  Seed  the  new  preacher  comin'  'long  to- 
day? "  he  asked.  Drawing  one  dirty  finger 
across  his  forehead,  "  Got  a  long  scar  'cross 
hyeh." 

The  miller  shook  his  head. 

;'  Well,  he's  a-comin'.  I've  been  waitin'  fer 
him  up  the  road,  but  I  reckon  I  got  to  git  'cross 
the  river  purty  soon  now." 

Crump  had  been  living  over  in  Breathitt  since 
the  old  feud.  He  had  been  "  convicted  "  over 
there  by  Sherd  Raines,  a  preacher  from  the  Jel- 
lico  Hills,  and  he  had  grown  pious.  Indeed, 
he  had  been  trailing  after  Raines  from  place  to 
place,  and  he  was  following  the  circuit-rider 
now  to  the  scene  of  his  own  deviltry — Hazlan. 

"  Reckon  you  folks  don't  know  I  got  the  cir- 
kit-rider  to  come  over  hyeh,  do  ye?  "  he  went 
on.  "Ef  he  can't  preach!  Well,  I'd  tell  a 
man!  He  kin  jus'  draw  the  heart  out'n  a  hol- 
ler log !  He  '  convicted '  me  fust  night,  over 
thar  in  Breathitt.  He  come  up  thar,  ye  know, 
to  stop  the  feud,  he  said;  'n'  thar  was  laughin' 
from  one eendo' Breathitt  to  t'other;  but  tharwas 
the  whoppinest  crowd  thar  I  ever  see  when  he 
did  come.  The  meetin'-house  wasn't  big  enough 
to  hold  'em,  so  he  goes  out  on  the  aidge  o'  town, 
'n'  climbs  on  to  a  stump.  He  hed  a  woman 
240 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

with  him  from  the  settlemints — she's  a-waitin' 
at  Hazlan  fer  him  now — V  she  had  a  cur'us  lit- 
tle box,  'n'  he  put  her  V  the  box  on  a  big  rock, 
V  started  in  a  callin'  'em  his  bretherin'  'n'  sis- 
teren,  'n'  folks  seed  mighty  soon  thet  he  meant 
it,  too.  He's  always  mighty  easylike,  tell  he 
gits  to  the  blood-penalty." 

At  the  word,  Crump's  listeners  paid  sudden 
heed.  Old  Gabe's  knife  stopped  short  in  the 
heart  of  the  stick  he  was  whittling;  the  boy 
looked  sharply  up  from  the  running  meal  into 
Crump's  face  and  sat  still. 

'  Well,  he  jes  prayed  to  the  Almighty  as 
though  he  was  a-talkin'  to  him  face  to  face,  'n' 
then  the  woman  put  her  hands  on  that  box,  'n' 
the  sweetes'  sound  anybody  thar  ever  heerd 
come  outen  it.  Then  she  got  to  singin'.  Hit 
wusn't  nuthin'  anybody  thar'd  ever  heerd;  but 
some  o'  the  women  folks  was  a  snifflin'  'fore  she 
got  through.  He  pitched  right  into  the  feud, 
as  he  calls  hit,  'n'  the  sin  o'  sheddin'  human 
blood,  I  tell  ye;  'n'  'twixt  him  and  the  soldiers 
I  reckon  thar  won't  be  no  more  fightin'  in 
Breathitt.  He  says,  'n'  he  always  says  it  mighty 
loud  " — Crump  raised  his  own  voice — "  thet 
the  man  as  kills  his  feller-critter  hev  some  day 
got  ter  give  up  his  own  blood,  sartin  'n'  shore." 

It  was  old  Gabe's  pet  theory,  and  he  was  nod- 
ding approval.     The  boy's  parted  lips  shook 
241 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

with  a  spasm  of  fear,  and  were  as  quickly  shut 
tight  with  suspicion.  Steve  raised  his  head  as 
though  he  too  had  heard  the  voice,  and  looked 
stupidly  about  him. 

"  I  tol'  him,"  Crump  went  on,  "  thet  things 
was  already  a-gettin'  kind  o'  frolicsome  round 
hyeh  agin;  thet  the  Marcums  V  Braytons  was 
a-takin'  up  the  ole  war,  V  would  be  a-plunkin' 
one  'nother  every  time  they  got  together,  'n' 
a-gittin'  the  whole  country  in  fear  'n'  tremblin' 
— now  thet  Steve  Marcum  had  come  back." 

Steve  began  to  scowl  and  a  vixenish  smile 
hovered  at  Isom's  lips. 

"  He  knows  mighty  well — fer  I  tol'  him — 
thet  thar  hain't  a  wuss  man  in  all  these  moun- 
tains than  thet  very  Steve — "  The  name  ended 
in  a  gasp,  and  the  wizened  gossip  was  caught  by 
the  throat  and  tossed,  chair  and  all,  into  a  corner 
of  the  mill. 

"  None  o'  that,  Steve !  "  called  the  miller, 
sternly.  "  Not  hyeh.  Don't  hurt  him  now !  " 

Crump's  face  stiffened  with  such  terror  that 
Steve  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  ye  air  a  skeery  critter!  "  he  said,  con- 
temptuously. "  I  hain't  goin'  to  hurt  him, 
Uncl'  Gabe,  but  he  must  be  a  plumb  idgit, 
a-talkin'  'bout  folks  to  thar  face,  'n'  him  so  puny 
an'  spindlin' !  You  git !  " 

Crump  picked  himself  up  trembling — "Don't 
242 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

ye  ever  let  me  see  ye  on  this  side  o'  the  river 
agin,  now  " — and  shuffled  out,  giving  Marcum 
one  look  of  fear  and  unearthly  hate. 

"  '  Convicted  ' !  "  snorted  Steve.  "  I  heerd  old 
Steve  Brayton  had  hired  him  to  waylay  me,  V 
I  swar  I  believe  hit's  so." 

"  Well,  he  won't  hev  to  give  him  more'n  a 
chaw  o'  tobaccer  now,"  said  Gabe.  "  He'll 
come  purty  near  doin'  hit  hisself,  I  reckon,  ef  he 
gits  the  chance." 

"  Well,  he  kin  git  the  chance  ef  I  gits  my 
leetle  account  settled  with  ole  Steve  Brayton 
fus£.  'Pears  like  that  old  hog  ain't  satisfied 
shootin'  me  hisself."  Stretching  his  arms  with 
a  y>lwn,  Steve  winked  at  Isom  and  moved  to  the 
doer.  The  boy  followed  him  outside. 

"  We're  goin'  fer  ole  Brayton  about  the  dark 
o'  the  next  moon,  boy,"  he  said.  "  He's  sort  o' 
s'picious  now,  'n'  we'll  give  him  a  leetle  time  to 
git  tame.  I'll  have  a  bran'-new  Winchester  fer 
ye,  Isom.  Hit  ull  be  like  ole  times  agin,  when 
Rome  was  hyeh.  Whut's  the  matter,  boy?  " 
he  asked,  suddenly.  Isom  looked  unresponsive, 
listless. 

"  Air  ye  gittin'  sick  agin?  " 

"  Well,  I  hain't  feelin'  much  peert,  Steve." 

u  Take  keer  o'  yourself,  boy.  Don't  git  sick 
now.  We'll  have  to  watch  Eli  Crump  purty 
close.  I  don't  know  why  I  hain't  killed  thet 

243 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

spyin'  skunk  long  ago,  'ceptin'  I  never  had  a 
shore  an'  sartin  reason  fer  doin'  it. 

Isom  started  to  speak  then  and  stopped.  He 
would  learn  more  first;  and  he  let  Steve  go  on 
home  unwarned. 

The  two  kept  silence  after  Marcum  had  gone. 
Isom  turned  away  from  old  Gabe,  and  stretched 
himself  out  on  the  platform.  He  looked  trou- 
bled. The  miller,  too,  was  worried. 

"  Jus'  a  hole  in  the  groun',"  he  said,  half  to 
himself;  "that's  whut  we're  all  comin'  to! 
'Pears  like  we  mought  help  one  'nother  to  keep 
out'n  hit,  'stid  o'  holpin'  'em  in." 

Brown  shadows  were  interlacing  out  in  the 
mill-pond,  where  old  Gabe's  eyes  were  intent. 
A  current  of  cool  air  had  started  down  the  creek 
to  the  river.  A  katydid  began  to  chant.  Twi- 
light was  coming,  and  the  miller  rose. 

"  Hit's  a  comfort  to  know  you  won't  be 
mixed  up  in  all  this  devilment,"  he  said;  and 
then,  as  though  he  had  found  more  light  in  the 
gloom:  "Hit's  a  comfort  to  know  the  new 
rider  air  shorely  a-preachin'  the  right  doctrine, 
V  I  want  ye  to  go  hear  him.  Blood  for  blood 
— life  fer  a  life !  Your  grandad  shot  ole  Tom 
Lewallen  in  Hazlan.  Ole  Jack  Lewallen  shot 
him  from  the  bresh.  Tom  Stetson  killed  ole 
Jack;  ole  Jass  killed  Tom,  'n'  so  hit  comes 
down,  fer  back  as  I  can  ricollect.  I  hev  nuver 
244 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

knowed  hit  to  fail."  The  lad  had  risen  on  one 
elbow.  His  face  was  pale  and  uneasy,  and  he 
averted  it  when  the  miller  turned  in  the  door. 

4  You'd  better  stay  hyeh,  son,  'n'  finish  up  the 
grist.  Hit  won't  take  long.  Hev  ye  got  vic- 
tuals fer  yer  supper?  " 

Isom  nodded,  without  looking  around,  and 
when  old  Gabe  was  gone  he  rose  nervously  and 
dropped  helplessly  back  to  the  floor. 

'  'Pears  like  old  Gabe  knows  I  killed  Jass," 
he  breathed,  sullenly.  'Pears  like  all  of  'em 
knows  hit,  'n'  air  jus'  a-tormentin'  me." 

Nobody  dreamed  that  the  boy  and  his  old 
gun  had  ended  that  fight  on  the  cliff;  and  with- 
out knowing  it,  old  Gabe  kept  the  lad  in  con- 
stant torture  with  his  talk  of  the  blood-penalty. 
But  Isom  got  used  to  it  in  time,  for  he  had  shot 
to  save  his  brother's  life.  Steve  Marcum  treat- 
ed him  thereafter  as  an  equal.  Steve's  friends, 
too,  changed  in  manner  towards  him  because 
Steve  had.  And  now,  just  when  he  had  reached 
the  point  of  wondering  whether,  after  all,  there 
might  not  be  one  thing  that  old  Gabe  did  not 
know,  Crump  had  come  along  with  the  miller's 
story,  which  he  had  got  from  still  another,  a 
circuit-rider,  who  must  know  the  truth.  The 
fact  gave  him  trouble. 

"  Mebbe  hit's  goin'  to  happen  when  I  goes 
with  Steve  atter  ole  Bray  ton,"  he  mumbled,  and 
245 


THE   LAST    STETSON" 

he  sat  thinking  the  matter  over,  until  a  rattle 
and  a  whir  inside  the  mill  told  him  that  the  hop- 
per was  empty.  He  arose  to  fill  it,  and  coming 
out  again,  he  heard  hoof-beats  on  the  dirt  road. 
A  stranger  rode  around  the  rhododendrons  and 
shouted  to  him,  asking  the  distance  to  Hazlan. 
He  took  off  his  hat  when  Isom  answered,  to 
wipe  the  dust  and  perspiration  from  his  face, 
and  the  boy  saw  a  white  scar  across  his  fore- 
head. A  little  awestricken,  the  lad  walked  to- 
wards him. 

"  Air  you  the  new  rider  whut's  goin'  to 
preach  up  to  Hazlan?  "  he  asked. 

Raines  smiled  at  the  solemnity  of  the  little 
fellow.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  Won't  you 
come  up  and  hear  me?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  and  his  lips  parted  as 
though  he  wanted  to  say  something  else,  but 
Raines  did  not  notice. 

"  I  wished  I  had  axed  him,"  he  said,  watch- 
ing the  preacher  ride  away.  "  Uncle  Gabe 
knows  might'  nigh  ever'thing,  V  he  says  so. 
Crump  said  the  rider  said  so ;  but  Crump  might 
'a'  been  lyin'.  He  'most  al'ays  is.  I  wished  I 
had  axed  him." 

Mechanically  the  lad  walked  along  the  mill- 
race,  which  was  made  of  hewn  boards  and  hol- 
low logs.  In  every  crevice  grass  hung  in  thick 
bunches  to  the  ground  or  tipped  wiry  blades 
246 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

over  the  running  water.  Tightening  a  prop 
where  some  silvery  jet  was  getting  too  large,  he 
lifted  the  tail-gate  a  trifle  and  lay  down  again 
on  the  platform  near  the  old  wheel.  Out  in  the 
mill-pond  the  water  would  break  now  and  then 
into  ripples  about  some  unwary  moth,  and  the 
white  belly  of  a  fish  would  flash  from  the  sur- 
face. It  was  the  only  sharp  accent  on  the  air. 
The  chant  of  the  katydids  had  become  a  chorus, 
and  the  hush  of  darkness  was  settling  over  the 
steady  flow  of  water  and  the  low  drone  of  the 
millstones. 

"  I  hain't  afeerd,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself. 
"  I  hain't  afeerd  o'  nothin'  nor  no-body ;  but 
he  lay  brooding  until  his  head  throbbed,  until 
darkness  filled  the  narrow  gorge,  and  the  strip 
of  dark  blue  up  through  the  trees  was  pointed 
with  faint  stars.  He  was  troubled  when  he 
rose,  and  climbed  on  Rome's  horse  and  rode 
homeward — so  troubled  that  he  turned  finally 
and  started  back  in  a  gallop  for  Hazlan. 

It  was  almost  as  Crump  had  said.  There 
was  no  church  in  Hazlan,  and,  as  in  Breathitt, 
the  people  had  to  follow  Raines  outside  the 
town,  and  he  preached  from  the  roadside.  The 
rider's  Master  never  had  a  tabernacle  more  sim- 
ple: overhead  the  stars  and  a  low  moon;  close 
about,  the  trees  still  and  heavy  with  summer;  a 
pine  torch  over  his  head  like  a  yellow  plume; 
247 


THE   LAST    STETSON" 

two  tallow  dips  hung  to  a  beech  on  one  side, 
and  flicking  to  the  other  the  shadows  of  the  peo- 
ple who  sat  under  them.  A  few  Marcums  and 
Braytons  were  there,  one  faction  shadowed  on 
Raines's  right,  one  on  his  left.  Between  them 
the  rider  stood  straight,  and  prayed  as  though 
talking  with  some  one  among  the  stars.  Be- 
hind him  the  voice  of  the  woman  at  her  tiny  or- 
gan rose  among  the  leaves.  And  then  he  spoke 
as  he  had  prayed;  and  from  the  first  they  lis- 
tened like  children,  while  in  their  own  homely 
speech  he  went  on  to  tell  them,  just  as  he  would 
have  told  children,  a  story  that  some  of  them 
had  never  heard  before.  "  Forgive  your  ene- 
mies as  He  had  forgiven  his,"  that  was  his  plea. 
Marcums  and  Braytons  began  to  press  in  from 
the  darkness  on  each  side,  forgetting  each  other 
as  the  rest  of  the  people  forgot  them.  And 
when  the  story  was  quite  done,  Raines  stood  a 
full  minute  without  a  word.  No  one  was  pre- 
pared for  what  followed.  Abruptly  his  voice 
rose  sternly — "  Thou  shalt  not  kill"  ;  and  then 
Satan  took  shape  under  the  torch.  The  man 
was  transformed,  swaying  half  crouched  before 
them.  The  long  black  hair  fell  across  the  white 
scar,  and  picture  after  picture  leaped  from  his 
tongue  with  such  vividness  that  a  low  wail 
started  through  the  audience,  and  women 
sobbed  in  their  bonnets.  It  was  penalty  for 
248 


THE   LAST   STETSON 

bloodshed — not  in  this  world :  penalty  eternal  in 
the  next;  and  one  slight  figure  under  the  dips 
staggered  suddenly  aside  into  the  darkness. 

It  was  Isom;  and  no  soul  possessed  of  devils 
was  ever  more  torn  than  his,  when  he  splashed 
through  Troubled  Fork  and  rode  away  that 
night.  Half  a  mile  on  he  tried  to  keep  his  eyes 
on  his  horse's  neck,  anywhere  except  on  one  high 
gray  rock  to  which  they  were  raised  against  his 
will — the  peak  under  which  he  had  killed  young 
Jasper.  There  it  was  staring  into  the  moon, 
but  watching  him  as  he  fled  through  the  woods, 
shuddering  at  shadows,  dodging  branches  that 
caught  at  him  as  he  passed,  and  on  in  a  run,  until 
he  drew  rein  and  slipped  from  his  saddle  at  the 
friendly  old  mill.  There  was  no  terror  for  him 
there.  There  every  bush  was  a  friend;  every 
beech  trunk  a  sentinel  on  guard  for  him  in 
shining  armor. 

It  was  the  old  struggle  that  he  was  starting 
through  that  night — the  old  fight  of  humanity 
from  savage  to  Christian ;  and  the  lad  fought  it 
until,  with  the  birth  of  his  wavering  soul,  the 
premonitions  of  the  first  dawn  came  on.  The 
patches  of  moonlight  shifted,  paling.  The  beech 
columns  mottled  slowly  with  gray  and  brown. 
A  ruddy  streak  was  cleaving  the  east  like  a  slow 
sword  of  fire.  The  chill  air  began  to  pulse  and 
the  mists  to  stir.  Moisture  had  gathered  on  the 
249 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

boy's  sleeve.  His  horse  was  stamping  uneasily, 
and  the  lad  rose  stiffly,  his  face  gray  but  calm, 
and  started  home.  .At  old  Gabe's  gate  he 
turned  in  his  saddle  to  look  where,  under  the 
last  sinking  star,  was  once  the  home  of  his  old 
enemies.  Farther  down,  under  the  crest,  was 
old  Steve  Brayton,  alive,  and  at  that  moment 
perhaps  asleep. 

"Forgive  your  enemies;"  that  was  the 
rider's  plea.  Forgive  old  Steve,  who  had 
mocked  him,  and  had  driven  Rome  from  the 
mountains;  who  had  threatened  old  Gabe's  lifer 
and  had  shot  Steve  Marcum  almost  to  death! 
The  lad  drew  breath  quickly,  and  standing  in 
his  stirrups,  stretched  out  his  fist,  and  let  it  drop, 
slowly. 


250 


II 

OLD  Gabe  was  just  starting  out  when  Isom 
reached  the  cabin,  and  the  old  man  thought 
the  boy  had  been  at  the  mill  all  night.  Isom 
slept  through  the  day,  and  spoke  hardly  a  word 
when  the  miller  came  home,  though  the  latter 
had  much  to  say  of  Raines,  the  two  Steves,  and 
of  the  trouble  possible.  He  gave  some  excuse 
for  not  going  with  old  Gabe  the  next  day,  and 
instead  went  into  the  woods  alone. 

Late  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he 
reached  the  mill.  Old  Gabe  sat  smoking  out- 
side the  door,  and  Isom  stretched  himself  out  on 
the  platform  close  to  the  water,  shading  his  eyes 
from  the  rich  sunlight  with  one  ragged  sleeve. 

"  Uncl'  Gabe,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  s'posin' 
Steve  Brayton  was  to  step  out'n  the  bushes  thar 
some  mawnin'  V  pull  down  his  Winchester  on 
ye,  would  ye  say,  '  Lawd,  fergive  him,  fer  he 
don't  know  whut  he  do'  ?  " 

Old  Gabe  had  told  him  once  about  a  Stetson 

and  a  Lewallen  who  were  heard  half  a  mile 

away  praying  while  they  fought  each  other  to 

death  with   Winchesters.     There  was  no   use 

251 


THE   LAST    STETSON 


"  prayin'  an'  shootin',"  the  miller  declared. 
There  was  but  one  way  for  them  to  escape 
damnation;  that  was  to  throw  down  their 
guns  and  make  friends.  But  the  miller  had  for- 
gotten, and  his  mood  that  morning  was  whim- 
sical. 

"Well,  I  mought,  Isom,"  he  said,  "  ef  I 
didn't  happen  to  have  a  gun  handy." 

The  humor  was  lost  on  Isom.  His  chin  was 
moving  up  and  down,  and  his  face  was  serious. 
That  was  just  it.  He  could  forgive  Jass — Jass 
was  dead;  he  could  forgive  Crump,  if  he  caught 
him  in  no  devilment;  old  Bray  ton  even — after 
Steve's  revenge  was  done.  But  now —  The 
boy  rose,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Uncl'  Gabe,"  he  said  with  sudden  passion, 
"  whut  ye  reckon  Rome's  a-doin'?  " 

The  miller  looked  a  little  petulant.  "  Don't 
ye  git  tired  axin'  me  thet  question,  Isom? 
Rome's  a-scratchin'  right  peert  fer  a  livin',  I 
reckon,  fer  hisself  V  Marthy.  Yes,  'n'  mebbe 
fer  a  young  'un  too  by  this  time.  Ef  ye  air 
honin'  fer  Rome,  why  don't  ye  rack  out  'n'  go  to 
him?  Lawd  knows  I'd  hate  ter  see  ye  go,  but 
I  toF  Rome  I'd  let  ye  whenever  ye  got  ready,  'n' 
so  I  will." 

Isom  had  no  answer,  and  old  Gabe  was  puz- 
zled. It  was  always  this  way.  The  boy  longed 
for  Rome,  the  miller  could  see.  He  spoke  of 
252 


THE   LAST    STETSOX 

him  sometimes  with  tears,  and  sometimes  he 
seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  going  to  him,  but 
he  shrank  inexplicably  when  the  time  for  leaving 
came. 

Isom  started  into  the  mill  now  without  a 
word,  as  usual.  Old  Gabe  noticed  that  his  feet 
were  unsteady,  and  with  quick  remorse  began  to 
question  him. 

"  Kinder  puny,  hain't  ye,  Isom?  " 
"  Well,  I  hain't  feelin'  much  peert." 
"  Hit  was  mighty  keerless,"  old  Gabe  said, 
with  kindly  reproach,  "  swimmin'  the  crick  atter 
a  fresh." 

"  Hit  wasn't  the  swimmin',"  he  protested, 
dropping  weakly  at  the  threshold.  "  Hit  was 
settin'  out  'n  the  woods.  I  was  in  Hazlan 
t'other  night,  Uncl'  Gabe,  to  hear  the  new 
rider." 

The  miller  looked  around  with  quick  inter- 
est. "  I've  been  skeered  afore  by  riders  a-tellin' 
'bout  the  torments  o'  hell,  but  I  never  heerd 
nothin'  like  his  tellin'  'bout  the  Lord.  He  said 
the  Lord  was  jes  as  pore  as  anybody  thar,  and 
lived  jes  as  rough;  thet  He  made  fences  and 
barns  'n'  ox-yokes  'n'  sech  like,  an'  He  couldn't 
write  His  own  name  when  He  started  out  to  save 
the  worl';  an'  when  he  come  to  the  p'int  whar 
His  enemies  tuk  hoi'  of  Him,  the  rider  jes 
crossed  his  fingers  up  over  his  head  'n'  axed  us  if 
253 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

we  didn't  know  how  it  hurt  to  run  a  splinter 
into  a  feller's  hand  when  he's  loggin'  or  a  thorn 
into  yer  foot  when  ye're  goin'  barefooted. 

"  Hit  jes  made  me  sick,  Uncl'  Gabe,  hearin' 
him  tell  how  they  stretched  Him  out  on  a  cross 
o'  wood,  when  He'd  come  down  fer  nothin'  but 
to  save  'em,  'n'  stuck  a  spear  big  as  a  co'n-knife 
into  His  side,  'n'  give  Him  vinegar,  'n'  let  Him 
hang  thar  'n'  die,  with  His  own  mammy  a-stand- 
in'  down  on  the  groun'  a-cryin'  'n'  watchin' 
Him.  Some  folks  thar  never  heerd  sech  afore. 
The  women  was  a-rockin',  'n'  ole  Granny  Day 
axed  right  out  ef  thet  tuk  place  a  long  time  ago ; 
'n'  the  rider  said,  '  Yes,  a  long  time  ago,  mos' 
two  thousand  years.'  Granny  was  a-cryin', 
Uncl'  Gabe,  'n'  she  said,  sorter  soft,  '  Stranger, 
let's  hope  that  hit  hain't  so  '  ;  'n'  the  rider  says, 
*  But  hit  air  so ;  'n'  He  f ergive  'em  while  they 
was  doin'  it.'  Thet's  whut  got  me,  Uncl'  Gabe, 
'n'  when  the  woman  got  to  singin',  somethin' 
kinder  broke  loose  hyeh  " — Isom  passed  his 
hand  over  his  thin  chest — "  'n'  I  couldn't  git 
breath.  I  was  mos'  afeerd  to  ride  home.  I  jes 
layed  at  the  mill  studyin',  till  I  thought  my  head 
would  bust.  I  reckon  hit  was  the  Sperit  a-work- 
in'  me.  Looks  like  I  was  mos'  convicted,  Uncl' 
Gabe."  His  voice  trembled  and  he  stopped. 
"  Crump  was  a-lyin',"  he  cried,  suddenly.  "  But 
hit's  wuss,  Uncl'  Gabe ;  hit's  wuss !  You  say  a 
254 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

life  fer  a  life  in  this  worl';  the  rider  says  hit's  in 
the  next,  V  I'm  mis'ble,  Uncl'  Gabe.  Ef  Rome 
— I  wish  Rome  was  hyeh,"  he  cried,  helplessly. 
"  I  don't  know  whut  to  do." 

The  miller  rose  and  limped  within  the  mill, 
and  ran  one  hand  through  the  shifting  corn.  He 
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  long  and  perplex- 
edly towards  Hazlan ;  he  finally  saw,  he  thought, 
just  what  the  lad's  trouble  was.  He  could  give 
him  some  comfort,  and  he  got  his  chair  and 
dragged  it  out  to  the  door  across  the  platform, 
and  sat  down  in  silence. 

"  Isom,"  he  said  at  last,  "  the  Sperit  air 
shorely  a-workin'  ye,  'n'  I'm  glad  of  it.  But 
ye  mus'n't  worry  about  the  penalty  a-fallin'  on 
Rome.  Steve  Marcum  killed  Jass — he  can't 
fool  me — 'n'  I've  told  Steve  he's  got  thet  penal- 
ty to  pay  ef  he  gits  up  this  trouble.  I'm  glad 
the  Sperit's  a-workin'  ye,  but  ye  mus'n't  worry 
'bout  Rome." 

Isom  rose  suddenly  on  one  elbow,  and  with  a 
moan  lay  back  and  crossed  his  arms  over  his 
face. 

Old  Gabe  turned  and  left  him. 

"  Git  up,  Isom."  It  was  the  miller's  voice 
again,  an  hour  later.  "  You  better  go  home 
now.  Ride  the  hoss,  boy,"  he  added,  kindly. 

Isom  rose,  and  old  Gabe  helped  him  mount, 

255 


THE   LAST    STETSON" 

and  stood  at  the  door.  The  horse  started,  but 
the  boy  pulled  him  to  a  standstill  again. 

"  I  want  to  ax  ye  jes  one  thing  more,  Uncl' 
Gabe,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  S'posin'  Steve  had 
a-killed  Jass  to  keep  him  from  killin'  Rome, 
hev  he  got  to  be  damned  fer  it  jes  the  same? 
Hev  he  got  to  give  up  eternal  life  anyways? 
Hain't  thar  no  way  out'n  it — no  way?  " 

There  was  need  for  close  distinction  now 
and  the  miller  was  deliberate. 

"  Ef  Steve  shot  Jass,"  he  said,  "  jes  to  save 
Rome's  life — he  had  the  right  to  shoot  him. 
Thar  hain't  no  doubt  'bout  that.  The  law 
says  so.  But  " — there  was  a  judicial  pause — 
"  I've  heerd  Steve  say  that  he  hated  Jass  wuss'n 
anybody  on  earth,  'cept  old  Brayton;  V  ef  he 
wus  glad  o'  the  chance  o'  killin'  him,  why — the 
Lord  air  merciful,  Isom;  the  Bible  air  true,  V 
hit  says  an  '  eye  fer  an  eye,  a  tooth  fer  a  tooth,' 
V  I  never  knowed  hit  to  fail — but  the  Lord  air 
merciful.  Ef  Steve  would  only  jes  repent,  'n' 
ef,  'stid  o'  fightin'  the  Lord  by  takin'  human  life, 
he'd  fight  fer  Him  by  savin'  it,  I  reckon  the  Lord 
would  fergive  him.  Fer  ef  ye  lose  yer  life  fer 
Him,  He  do  say  you'll  find  it  agin  somewhar — 
sometime." 

Old  Gabe  did  not  see  the  sullen  despair  that 
came  into  the  boy's  tense  face.  The  subtlety  of 
the  answer  had  taken  the  old  man  back  to  the 
256 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

days  when  he  was  magistrate,  and  his  eyes  were 
half  closed.  Isom  rode  away  without  a  word. 
From  the  dark  of  the  mill  old  Gabe  turned  to 
look  after  him  again. 

"  I'm  afeerd  he's  a-gittin'  feverish  agin.  Hit 
looks  like  he's  convicted;  but" — he  knew  the 
wavering  nature  of  the  boy — "  I  don't  know — 
I  don't  know." 

Going  home  an  hour  later,  the  old  man  saw 
several  mountaineers  climbing  the  path  towards 
Steve  Marcum's  cabin;  it  meant  the  brewing  of 
mischief;  and  when  he  stopped  at  his  own  gate, 
he  saw  at  the  bend  of  the  road  a  figure  creep 
from  the  bushes  on  one  side  into  the  bushes  on 
the  other. 

It  looked  like  Crump. 


257 


Ill 

IT  was  Crump,  and  fifty  yards  behind  him  was 
Isom,  slipping  through  the  brush  after  him 
— Isom's  evil  spirit — old  Gabe,  Raines,  "  con- 
viction," blood-penalty,  forgotten,  all  lost  in  the 
passion  of  a  chase  which  has  no  parallel  when 
the  game  is  man. 

Straight  up  the  ravine  Crump  went  along  a 
path  which  led  to  Steve  Marcum's  cabin.  There 
was  a  clump  of  rhododendron  at  the  head  of  the 
ravine,  and  near  Steve's  cabin.  About  this  hour 
Marcum  would  be  chopping  wood  for  supper, 
or  sitting  out  in  hic  porch  in  easy  range  from 
the  thicket.  Crumb's  plan  was  plain:  he  was 
about  his  revenge  early,  and  Isom  was  exultant. 

"  Oh,  no,  Eli,  you  won't  git  Steve  this  time. 
Oh,  naw!" 

The  bushes  were  soon  so  thick  that  he  could 
no  longer  follow  Crump  by  sight,  and  every 
few  yards  he  had  to  stop  to  listen,  and  then 
steal  on  like  a  mountain-cat  towards  the  leaves 
rustling  ahead  of  him.  Half-way  up  the  ravine 
Crump  turned  to  the  right  and  stopped.  Puz- 
zled, Isom  pushed  so  close  that  the  spy,  stand- 
258 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

ing  irresolute  on  the  edge  of  the  path,  whirled 
around.  The  boy  sank  to  his  face,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment footsteps  started  and  grew  faint;  Crump 
had  darted  across  the  path,  and  was  running 
through  the  undergrowth  up  the  spur.  Isom 
rose  and  hurried  after  him;  and  when,  panting 
hard,  he  reached  the  top,  the  spy's  skulking  fig- 
ure was  sliding  from  Steve's  house  and  towards 
the  Breathitt  road;  and  with  a  hot,  puzzled  face, 
the  boy  went  down  after  it. 

On  a  little  knob  just  over  a  sudden  turn  in  the 
road  Crump  stopped,  and  looking  sharply  about 
him,  laid  his  gun  down.  Just  in  front  of  him 
were  two  rocks,  waist-high,  with  a  crevice  be- 
tween them.  Drawing  a  long  knife  from  his 
pocket,  he  climbed  upon  them,  and  began  to  cut 
carefully  away  the  spreading  top  of  a  bush  that 
grew  on  the  other  side.  Isom  crawled  down 
towards  him  like  a  lizard,  from  tree  to  tree.  A 
moment  later  the  spy  was  filling  up  the  crevice 
with  stones,  and  Isom  knew  what  he  was  about; 
he  was  making  a  "  blind  "  to  waylay  Steve,  who, 
the  boy  knew,  was  going  to  Breathitt  by  that 
road  the  next  Sunday.  How  did  Crump  know 
that — how  did  he  know  everything?  The 
crevice  filled,  Crump  cut  branches  and  stuck 
them  between  the  rocks.  Then  he  pushed  his 
rifle  through  the  twigs,  and  taking  aim  several 
times,  withdrew  it.  When  he  turned  away  at 
259 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

last  and  started  down  to  the  road,  he  looked 
back  once  more,  and  Isom  saw  him  grinning. 
Almost  chuckling  in  answer,  the  lad  slipped 
around  the  knob  to  the  road  the  other  way,  and 
Crump  threw  up  his  gun  with  a  gasp  of  fright 
when  a  figure  rose  out  of  the  dusk  before  him. 

"  Hoi'  on,  Eli!  "  said  Isom,  easily.  "  Don't 
git  skeered!  Hit's  nobody  but  me.  Whar  ye 
been?" 

Crump  laughed,  so  quick  was  he  disarmed  of 
suspicion.  "  Jes  up  the  river  a  piece  to  see  Aunt 
Sally  Day.  She's  a  fust  cousin  o'  mine  by  mar- 
riage." 

Isom's  right  hand  was  slipping  back  as  if  to 
rest  on  his  hip.  "  D'you  say  you'd  been  '  con- 
victed,1 Eli?  " 

Crump's  answer  was  chantlike.  "  Yes,  Lawd ! 
reckon  I  have-." 

"  Coin'  to  stop  all  o'  yer  lyin',  air  ye,"  Isom 
went  on,  in  the  same  tone,  and  Crump  twitched 
as  though  struck  suddenly  from  behind,  "  an' 
stealin'  V  lay-way in' ?" 

"  Look  a-hyeh,  boy — "  he  began,  roughly, 
and  mumbling  a  threat,  started  on. 

"  Uh,  Eli !  "  Even  then  the  easy  voice  fooled 
him  again,  and  he  turned.  Isom  had  a  big  re- 
volver on  a  line  with  his  breast.  "  Drap  yer 
gun !  "  he  said,  tremulously. 

Crump  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  guilty  face 
260 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

turned  gray.  "Take  keer,  boy,"  he  gasped; 
"  yer  gun's  cocked.  Take  keer,  I  tell  ye !  " 

"  Drap  it,  damn  ye!  "  Isom  called  in  sudden 
fury,  "V  git  clean  away  from  it!"  Crump 
backed,  and  Isom  came  forward  and  stood  with 
one  foot  on  the  fallen  Winchester. 

"  I  seed  ye,  Eli.  Been  makin'  a  blind  fer 
Steve,  hev  ye  ?  Coin'  to  shoot  him  in  the  back, 
too,  air  ye?  You're  ketched  at  last,  Eli.  You've 
done  a  heap  o'  devilment.  You're  gittin'  wuss 
all  the  time.  You  oughter  be  dead,  'n' 
now ' 

Crump  found  voice  in  a  cry  of  terror  and  a 
whine  for  mercy.  The  boy  looked  at  him, 
unable  to  speak  his  contempt. 

"Git  down  thar!"  he  said,  finally;  and 
Crump,  knowing  what  was  wanted,  stretched 
himself  in  the  road.  Isom  sat  down  on  a  stone, 
the  big  pistol  across  one  knee. 

"  Roll  over !  "  Crump  rolled  at  full  length. 

"  Git  up  !  "  Isom  laughed  wickedly.  '  Ye 
don't  look  purty,  Eli."  He  lifted  the  pistol 
and  nipped  a  cake  of  dirt  from  the  road  between 
Crump's  feet.  With  another  cry  of  fear,  the 
spy  began  a  vigorous  dance. 

"  Hoi'  on,  Eli ;  I  don't  want  ye  to  dance.     Ye 

belong  to  the  chu'ch  now,  'n'  I  wouldn't  have  ye 

go  agin  yer  religion  fer  nothin'.     Stan'  still !  " 

Another  bullet  and  another  cut  between  Crump's 

261 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

feet.  "  'Pears  like  ye  don't  think  I  kin  shoot 
straight.  Eli,"  he  went  on,  reloading  the  empty 
chambers,  "  some  folks  think  I'm  a  idgit,  'n' 
I  know  'em.  Do  you  think  I'm  a  idgit,  Eli  ?  " 

"  Actin'  mighty  nateral  now."  Isom  was 
raising  the  pistol  again.  "  Oh,  Lawdy !  Don't 
shoot,  boy — don't  shoot!  " 

"  Git  down  on  yer  knees!  Now  I  want  ye  to 
beg  fer  mercy  thet  ye  never  showed — thet  ye 
wouldn't  'a'  showed  Steve.  .  .  .  Purty  good," 
he  said,  encouragingly. 

"  Mebbe  ye  kin  pray  a  leetle,  seein'  ez  ye  air  a 
chu'ch  member.  Pray  fer  yer  enemies,  Eli ;  Uncl* 
Gabe  says  ye  must  love  yer  enemies.  I  know 
how  ye  loves  me,  'n'  I  want  yer  to  pray  fer  me. 
The  Lawd  mus'  sot  a  powerful  store  by  a  good 
citizen  like  you.  Ax  him  to  fergive  me  fer 
killin'  ye." 

"  Have  mercy,  O  Lawd,"  prayed  Crump,  to 
command — and  the  prayer  was  subtle — "  on  the 
murderer  of  this  Thy  servant.  A  life  fer  a  life, 
Thou  hev  said,  O  Lawd.  Fer  killin'  me  he  will 
foller  me,  'n'  ef  Ye  hev  not  mussy  he  is  boun'  fer 
the  lowes'  pit  o'  hell,  O  Lawd— 

It  was  Isom's  time  to  wince  now,  and  Crump's 
pious  groan  was  cut  short. 

"  Shet  up !  "  cried  the  boy,  sharply,  and  he 
sat  a  moment  silent.  "  You've  been  a-spyin'  on 
us  sence  I  was  borned,  Eli,"  he  said,  reflectively. 
262 


TJ*sr 

V 


Pray  fer  yer  enemies,  Eli." 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

"  I  believe  ye  lay-wayed  dad.  Y'u  spied  on 
Rome.  Y'u  told  the  soldiers  whar  he  was 
a-hidin'.  Y'u  tried  to  shoot  him  from  the 
bresh.  Y'u  found  out  Steve  was  goin'  to 
Breathitt  on  Sunday,  'n'  you've  jes  made  a 
blind  to  shoot  him  in  the  back.  I  reckon  thar's 
no  meanness  ye  hain't  done.  Dad's  al'ays  said 
ye  sot  a  snare  fer  a  woman  once — a  woman! 
Y'u  loaded  a  musket  with  slugs,  'n'  tied  a  string 
to  the  trigger,  'n'  stretched  hit  'cross  the  path, 
'n'  y'u  got  up  on  a  cliff  'n'  whistled  to  make  her 
slow  up  jes  when  she  struck  the  string.  I  reckon 
thet's  yer  wust — but  I  don't  know." 

Several  times  Crump  raised  his  hands  in  pro- 
test while  his  arraignment  was  going  on;  several 
times  he  tried  to  speak,  but  his  lips  refused  utter- 
ance. The  boy's  voice  was  getting  thicker  and 
thicker,  and  he  was  nervously  working  the  cock 
of  the  big  pistol  up  and  down. 

"  Git  up,"  he  said;  and  Crump  rose  with  a 
spring.  The  lad's  tone  meant  release. 

"  You  hain't  wuth  the  risk.  I  hain't  goin'  ter 
kill  ye.  I  jus'  wanted  ter  banter  ye  'n'  make  ye 
beg.  You're  a  good  beggar,  Eli,  'n'  a  powerful 
prayer.  You'll  be  a  shinin'  light  in  the  chu'ch,  ef 
ye  gits  a  chance  ter  shine  long.  Fer  lemme  tell 
ye,  nobody  ever  ketched  ye  afore.  But  you're 
ketched  now,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  tell  Steve.  He'll  be 
a-watchin'  fer  ye,  'n'  so  '11  I.  I  tell  ye  in  time, 
263 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

ef  ye  ever  come  over  hyeh  agin  as  long  as  you 
live,  you'll  never  git  back  alive.  Turn  roun' ! 
Hev  ye  got  any  balls?  "  he  asked,  feeling  in 
Crump's  pockets  for  cartridges.  "  No ;  well  " 
— he  picked  up  the  Winchester  and  pumped  the 
magazine  empty — "  I'll  keep  these,"  he  said, 
handing  Crump  the  empty  rifle.  "  Now  git 
away — an'  git  away  quick !  " 

Crump's  slouching  footsteps  went  out  of  hear- 
ing, and  Isom  sat  where  he  was.  His  elbows 
dropped  to  his  knees.  His  face  dropped  slowly 
into  his  hands,  and  the  nettles  of  remorse  began 
to  sting.  He  took  the  back  of  one  tremulous 
hand  presently  to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead,  and  he  found  it  burning.  A  sharp 
pain  shot  through  his  eyes.  He  knew  what  that 
meant,  and  feeling  dizzy,  he  rose  and  started 
a  little  blindly  towards  home. 

Old  Gabe  was  waiting  for  him.  He  did  not 
answer  the  old  man's  querulous  inquiry,  but 
stumbled  towards  a  bed.  An  hour  later,  when 
the  miller  was  rubbing  his  forehead,  he  opened 
his  eyes,  shut  them,  and  began  to  talk. 

"  I  reckon  I  hain't  much  better  'n  Eli,  Uncl' 
Gabe,"  he  said,  plaintively.  "  I've  been  abusin' 
him  down  thar  in  the  woods.  I  come  might' 
nigh  killin'  him  onct."  The  old  man  stroked 
on,  scarcely  heeding  the  boy's  words,  so  much 
nonsense  would  he  talk  when  ill. 
264 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

"  I've  been  lyin'  to  ye,  Uncl'  Gabe,  V  a-de- 
ceivin'  of  ye  right  along.  Steve's  a-goin'  atter 
ole  Brayton — I'm  goin'  too — Steve  didn't  kill 
Jass — hit  wusn't  Steve — hit  wusn't  Rome — hit 
was — '  The  last  word  stopped  behind  his  shak- 
ing lips;  he  rose  suddenly  in  bed,  looked  wildly 
into  the  miller's  startled  face,  and  dropping  with 
a  sob  to  the  bed,  went  sobbing  to  sleep. 

Old  Gabe  went  back  to  his  pipe,  and  while  he 
smoked,  his  figure  shrank  slowly  in  his  chair. 
He  went  to  bed  finally,  but  sleep  would  not 
come,  and  he  rose  again  and  built  up  the  fire  and 
sat  by  it,  waiting  for  day.  His  own  doctrine, 
sternly  taught  for  many  a  year,  had  come  home 
to  him;  and  the  miller's  face  when  he  opened 
his  door  was  gray  as  the  breaking  light. 


265 


IV 

THERE  was  little  peace  for  old  Gabe  that 
day  at  the  mill.  And  when  he  went  home 
at  night  he  found  cause  for  the  thousand  pre- 
monitions that  had  haunted  him.    The  lad  was 
gone. 

A  faint  light  in  the  east  was  heralding  the 
moon  when  Isom  reached  Steve  Marcum's  gate. 
There  were  several  horses  hitched  to  the  fence, 
several  dim  forms  seated  in  the  porch,  and  the 
lad  hallooed  for  Steve,  whose  shadow  shot  in- 
stantly from  the  door  and  came  towards  him. 

"  Glad  ter  see  ye,  Isom,"  he  called,  jubilantly. 
"  I  was  jus'  about  to  sen'  fer  ye.  How'd  ye 
happen  to  come  up?  " 

Isom  answered  in  a  low  voice  with  the  news 
of  Crump's  "  blind,"  and  Steve  laughed  and 
swore  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Come  hyeh !  "  he  said,  leading  the  way 
back ;  and  at  the  porch  he  had  Isom  tell  the  story 
again. 

"Whut  d'  I  tell  ye,  boys?"  he  asked,  tri- 
umphantly. "  Don't  believe  ye  more  'n  half 
believed  me." 

266 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

Three  more  horsemen  rode  up  to  the  gate  and 
came  into  the  light.  Every  man  was  armed, 
and  at  Isom's  puzzled  look,  Steve  caught  the 
lad  by  the  arm  and  led  him  around  the  chimney- 
corner.  He  was  in  high  spirits. 

"  'Pears  like  ole  times,  Isom.  I'm  a-goin'  fer 
thet  cussed  ole  Steve  Brayton  this  very  night. 
He's  behind  Crump.  I  s'picioned  it  afore;  now 
I  know  it  for  sartain.  He's  a-goin'  to  give  Eli 
a  mule  'n'  a  Winchester  fer  killin'  me.  We're 
goin'  to  s'prise  him  to-night.  He  won't  be  look- 
in'  fer  us — I've  fixed  that.  I  wus  jus'  about  to 
sen'  fer  ye.  I  hain't  fergot  how  ye  kin  handle 
a  gun."  Steve  laughed  significantly.  "  Ye're 
a  good  frien'  o'  mine,  'n'  I'm  goin'  to  show  ye 
thet  I'm  a  frien'  o'  yourn." 

Isom's  paleness  was  unnoticed  in  the  dark. 
The  old  throbbing  began  to  beat  again  at  his 
temple ;  the  old  haze  started  from  his  eyes. 

"  Hyeh's  yer  gun,  Isom,"  he  heard  Steve  say- 
ing next.  The  fire  was  blazing  into  his  face. 
At  the  chimney-corner  was  the  bent  figure  of  old 
Daddy  Marcum,  and  across  his  lap  shone  a  Win- 
chester. Steve  was  pointing  at  it,  his  grim  face 
radiant;  the  old  man's  toothless  mouth  was  grin- 
ning, and  his  sharp  black  eyes  were  snapping  up 
at  him. 

"  Hit's  yourn,  I  tell  ye,"  said  Steve  again. 
"  I  aimed  jes  to  lend  it  to  ye,  but  ye've  saved  me 
267 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

frum  gittin'  killed,  mebbe,  V  hit's  yourn  now— 
yourn,  boy,  fer  keeps." 

Steve  was  holding  the  gun  out  to  him  now. 
The  smooth  cold  touch  of  the  polished  barrel 
thrilled  him.  It  made  everything  for  an  in- 
stant clear  again,  and  feeling  weak,  Isom  sat 
down  on  the  bed,  gripping  the  treasure  in  both 
trembling  hands.  On  one  side  of  him  some  one 
was  repeating  Steve's  plan  of  attack.  Old 
Brayton's  cabin  was  nearly  opposite,  but  they 
would  go  up  the  river,  cross  above  the  mill,  and 
ride  back.  The  night  was  cloudy,  but  they 
would  have  the  moonlight  now  and  then  for  the 
climb  up  the  mountain.  They  would  creep  close, 
and  when  the  moon  was  hid  they  would  run  in 
and  get  old  Brayton  alive,  if  possible.  Then — 
the  rest  was  with  Steve. 

Across  the  room  he  could  hear  Steve  telling 
the  three  new-comers,  with  an  occasional  curse, 
about  Crump's  blind,  and  how  he  knew  that  old 
Brayton  was  hiring  Crump. 

"  Old  Steve's  meaner  'n  Eli,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  a  flame  of  the  old  hate  surged  up  from 
the  fire  of  temptation  in  his  heart.  Steve  Mar- 
cum  was  his  best  friend;  Steve  had  shielded  him. 
The  boy  had  promised  to  join  him  against  old 
Brayton,  and  here  was  the  Winchester,  brand- 
new,  to  bind  his  word. 

"  Git  ready,  boys ;  git  ready." 
268 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

It  was  Steve's  voice,  and  in  Isom's  ears  tha 
preacher's  voice  rang  after  it.  Again  that 
blinding  mist  before  his  eyes,  and  the  boy 
brushed  at  it  irritably.  He  could  see  the  men 
buckling  cartridge-belts,  but  he  sat  still.  Two  or 
three  men  were  going  out.  Daddy  Marcum 
was  leaning  on  a  chair  at  the  door,  looking 
eagerly  at  each  man  as  he  passed. 

"  Hain't  ye  goin',  Isom  ?  " 

Somebody  was  standing  before  him  twirling 
a  rifle  on  its  butt,  a  boy  near  Isom's  age.  The 
whirling  >nn  made  him  dizzy. 

"Stop  it!"  he  cried,  angrily.  Old  Daddy 
Marcum  was  answering  the  boy's  question  from 
the  door. 

"  Isom  goin'  ? "  he  piped,  proudly.  "  I 
reckon  he  air.  Whar's  yer  belt,  boy?  Git 
ready.  Git  ready." 

Isom  rose  then — he  could  not  answer  sitting 
down — and  caught  at  a  bedpost  with  one  hand, 
while  he  fumbled  at  his  throat  with  the  other. 

"  I  hain't  goin'." 

Steve  heard  at  the  door,  and  whirled  around. 
Daddy  Marcum  was  tottering  across  the  floor, 
with  one  bony  hand  uplifted. 

"  You're  a  coward!  "  The  name  stilled  every 
sound.     Isom,  with  eyes  afire,  sprang  at  the  old 
man  to  strike,  but  somebody  caught  his  arm  and 
forced  him  back  to  the  bed. 
269 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

"  Shet  up,  dad,"  said  Steve,  angrily,  looking 
sharply  into  Isom's  face.  "  Don't  ye  see  the 
boy's  sick?  He  needn't  go  ef  he  don't  want  to. 
Time  to  start,  boys." 

The  tramp  of  heavy  boots  started  across  the 
puncheon  floor  and  porch  again.  Isom  could 
hear  Steve's  orders  outside;  the  laughs  and  jeers 
and  curses  of  the  men  as  they  mounted  their 
horses;  he  heard  the  cavalcade  pass  through  the 
gate,  the  old  man's  cackling  good-by;  then  the 
horses'  hoofs  going  down  the  mountain,  and 
Daddy  Marcum's  hobbling  step  on  the  porch 
again.  He  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  full  in  the  firelight,  when  the  old  man 
reached  the  threshold — standing  in  a  trance, 
with  a  cartridge-belt  in  his  hand. 

"  Good  fer  you,  Isom !  " 

The  cry  was  apologetic,  and  stopped  short. 

"  The  critter's  fersaken,"  he  quavered,  and 
cowed  by  the  boy's  strange  look,  the  old  man 
shrank  away  from  him  along  the  wall.  But 
Isom  seemed  neither  to  see  nor  hear.  He  caught 
up  his  rifle,  and,  wavering  an  instant,  tossed  it 
with  the  belt  on  the  bed  and  ran  out  the  door. 
The  old  man  followed,  dumb  with  amazement. 

"  Isom !  "  he  called,  getting  his  wits  and  his 
tongue  at  last.  "  Hyeh's  yer  gun !  Come 
back,  I  tell  ye !  You've  fergot  yer  gun !  Isom ! 
Isom!" 

270 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

The  voice  piped  shrilly  out  into  the  darkness, 
and  piped  back  without  answer. 

A  steep  path,  dangerous  even  by  day,  ran 
snakelike  from  the  cabin  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  It  was  called  Isom's  path  after  that 
tragic  night.  No  mountaineer  went  down  it 
thereafter  without  a  firm  faith  that  only  by  the 
direct  help  of  Heaven  could  the  boy,  in  his  flight 
down  through  the  dark,  have  reached  the  river 
and  the  other  side  alive.  The  path  dropped 
from  ledge  to  ledge,  and  ran  the  brink  of  preci- 
pices and  chasms.  In  a  dozen  places  the  boy 
crashed  through  the  undergrowth  from  one  slip- 
pery fold  to  the  next  below,  catching  at  roots 
and  stones,  slipping  past  death  a  score  of  times, 
and  dropping  on  till  a  flood  of  yellow  light 
lashed  the  gloom  before  him.  Just  there  the 
river  was  most  narrow;  the  nose  of  a  cliff 
swerved  the  current  sharply  across,  and  on  the 
other  side  an  eddy  ran  from  it  up  stream.  These 
earthly  helps  he  had,  and  he  needed  them. 

There  had  been  a  rain-storm,  and  the  waves 
swept  him  away  like  thistle-down,  and  beat 
back  at  him  as  he  fought  through  them  and 
stood  choked  and  panting  on  the  other  shore. 
He  did  not  dare  stop  to  rest.  The  Marcums, 
too,  had  crossed  the  river  up  at  the  ford  by  this 
time,  and  were  galloping  towards  him ;  and  Isom 
started  on  and  up.  When  he  reached  the  first 
271 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

bench  of  the  spur  the  moon  was  swinging  over 
Thunderstruck  Knob.  The  clouds  broke  as  he 
climbed;  strips  of  radiant  sky  showed  between 
the  rolling  masses,  and  the  mountain  above  was 
light  and  dark  in  quick  succession.  He  had  no 
breath  when  he  reached  the  ledge  that  ran  below 
old  Steve's  cabin,  and  flinging  one  arm  above  it, 
he  fell  through  sheer  exhaustion.  The  cabin 
was  dark  as  the  clump  of  firs  behind  it;  the  in- 
mates were  unsuspecting;  and  Steve  Marcum 
and  his  men  were  not  far  below.  A  rumbling 
started  under  him,  while  he  lay  there  and  grew 
faint — the  rumble  of  a  stone  knocked  from  the 
path  by  a  horse's  hoof.  Isom  tried  to  halloo, 
but  his  voice  stopped  in  a  whisper,  and  he  pain- 
fully drew  himself  upon  the  rock,  upright  under 
the  bright  moon.  A  quick  oath  of  warning 
came  then — it  was  Crump's  shrill  voice  in  the 
Brayton  cabin — and  Isom  stumbled  forward 
with  both  hands  thrown  up  and  a  gasping  cry  at 
his  lips.  One  flash  came  through  a  port-hole 
of  the  cabin.  A  yell  broke  on  the  night — 
Crump's  cry  again — and  the  boy  swayed  across 
the  rock,  and  falling  at  the  brink,  dropped  with 
a  limp  struggle  out  of  sight. 


272 


THE  news  of  Isom's  fate  reached  the  miller 
by  way  of  Hazlan  before  the  next  noon. 
Several  men  in  the  Brayton  cabin  had  recognized 
the  boy  in  the  moonlight.  At  daybreak  they 
found  bloodstains  on  the  ledge  and  on  a  narrow 
shelf  a  few  feet  farther  down.  Isom  had 
slipped  from  one  to  the  other,  they  said,  and  in 
his  last  struggle  had  rolled  over  into  Dead 
Creek,  and  had  been  swept  into  the  Cumber- 
land. 

It  was  Crump  who  had  warned  the  Braytons. 
Nobody  ever  knew  how  he  had  learned  Steve 
Marcum's  purpose.  And  old  Brayton  on  his 
guard  and  in  his  own  cabin  was  impregnable. 
So  the  Marcums,  after  a  harmless  fusillade,  had 
turned  back  cursing.  Mocking  shouts  followed 
after  them,  pistol-shots,  even  the  scraping  of  a 
fiddle  and  shuffling  on  the  ledge.  But  they  kept 
on,  cursing  across  the  river  and  back  to  Daddy 
Marcum,  who  was  standing  in  the  porch,  peer- 
ing for  them  through  the  dawn,  with  a  story  to 
tell  about  Isom. 

"  The  critter  was  teched  in  the  head,"  the  old 

273 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

man  said,  and  this  was  what  the  Braytons,  too, 
believed.  But  Steve  Marcum,  going  to  search 
for  Isom's  body  next  day,  gave  old  Gabe  an- 
other theory.  He  told  the  miller  how  Daddy 
Marcum  had  called  Isom  a  coward,  and  Steve 
said  the  boy  had  gone  ahead  to  prove  he  was  no 
coward. 

"  He  had  mighty  leetle  call  to  prove  it  to  me. 
Think  o'  his  takin'  ole  Brayton  all  by  hisself !  " 
he  said,  with  a  look  at  the  yellow,  heaving  Cum- 
berland. "  'N',  Lord !  think  o'  his  swimmin' 
that  river  in  the  dark !  " 

Old  Gabe  asked  a  question  fiercely  then  and 
demanded  the  truth,  and  Steve  told  him  about 
the  hand-to-hand  fight  on  the  mountain-side, 
about  young  Jasper's  treachery,  and  how  the 
boy,  who  was  watching  the  fight,  fired  just  in 
time  to  save  Rome.  It  made  all  plain  at  last — 
Rome's  and  Steve's  denials,  Isom's  dinning  on 
that  one  theme,  and  why  the  boy  could  not  go  to 
Rome  and  face  Martha,  with  her  own  blood  on 
his  hands.  Isom's  true  motive,  too,  was  plain, 
and  the  miller  told  it  brokenly  to  Steve,  who 
rode  away  with  a  low  whistle  to  tell  it  broadcast, 
and  left  the  old  man  rocking  his  body  like  a 
woman. 

An  hour  later  he  rode  back  at  a  gallop  to  tell 
old  Gabe  to  search  the  river  bank  below  the  mill. 
He  did  not  believe  Isom  dead.  It  was  just  his 
274 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

"  feelin',"  he  said,  and  one  fact,  that  nobody  else 
thought  important  —  the  Brayton  canoe  was 
gone. 

"  Ef  he  was  jus'  scamped  by  a  ball,"  said 
Steve,  "  you  kin  bet  he  tuk  the  boat,  V  he's 
down  thar  in  the  bushes  somewhar  now  waitin' 
fer  dark." 

And  about  dusk,  sure  enough,  old  Gabe,  wan- 
dering hopefully  through  the  thicket  below  the 
mill,  stumbled  over  the  canoe  stranded  in  the 
bushes.  In  the  new  mud  were  the  tracks  of  a 
boy's  bare  feet  leading  into  the  thicket,  and  the 
miller  made  straight  for  home.  When  he  opened 
his  door  he  began  to  shake  as  if  with  palsy.  A 
figure  was  seated  on  the  hearth  against  the  chim- 
ney, and  the  firelight  was  playing  over  the  face 
and  hair.  The  lips  were  parted,  and  the  head 
hung  limply  to  the  breast.  The  clothes  were 
torn  to  rags,  and  one  shoulder  was  bare. 
Through  the  upper  flesh  of  it  and  close  to  the 
neck  was  an  ugly  burrow  clotted  with  blood.  The 
boy  was  asleep. 

Three  nights  later,  in  Hazlan,  Sherd  Raines 
told  the  people  of  Isom's  flight  down  the  moun- 
tain, across  the  river,  and  up  the  steep  to  save  his 
life  by  losing  it.  Before  he  was  done,  one  gray- 
headed  figure  pressed  from  the  darkness  on  one 
side  and  stood  trembling  under  the  dips.  It  was 
275 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

old  Steve  Brayton,  who  had  fired  from  the  cabin 
at  Isom,  and  dropping  his  Winchester,  he  stum- 
bled forward  with  the  butt  of  his  pistol  held  out 
to  Raines.  A  Marcum  appeared  on  the  other 
side  with  the  muzzle  of  his  Winchester  down. 
Raines  raised  both  hands  then  and  imperiously 
called  on  every  man  who  had  a  weapon  to  come 
forward  and  give  it  up.  Like  children  they 
came,  Marcums  and  Braytons,  piling  their  arms 
on  the  rock  before  him,  shaking  hands  right  and 
left,  and  sitting  together  on  the  mourner's  bench. 

Old  Brayton  was  humbled  thereafter.  He 
wanted  to  shake  hands  with  Steve  Marcum  and 
make  friends.  But  Steve  grinned,  and  said, 
"  Not  yit,"  and  went  off  into  the  bushes.  A  few 
days  later  he  went  to  Hazlan  of  his  own  accord 
and  gave  up  his  gun  to  Raines.  He  wouldn't 
shake  hands  with  old  Brayton,  he  said,  nor  with 
any  other  man  who  would  hire  another  man  to 
do  his  "  killin' ;  "  but  he  promised  to  fight  no 
more,  and  he  kept  his  word. 

A  flood  followed  on  New  Year's  day.  Old 
Gabe's  canoe — his  second  canoe — was  gone,  and 
a  Marcum  and  a  Brayton  worked  side  by  side  at 
the  mill  hollowing  out  another.  The  miller  sat 
at  the  door  whittling. 

"  'Pears  like  folks  is  havin'  bad  luck  with  thar 
dugouts,"  said  the  Brayton.     "  Some  triflin'  cuss 
took  old  Steve  Brayton's  jes  to  cross  the  river, 
276 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

without  the  grace  to  tie  it  to  the  bank,  let  'lone 
takin'  it  back.  I've  heard  ez  how  Aunt  Sally 
Day's  boy  Ben,  who  was  a-fishin'  that  evenin', 
says  ez  how  he  seed  Isom's  harnt  a-floatin'  across 
the  river  in  it,  without  techin'  a  paddle." 

The  Marcum  laughed.  "  Idgits  is  thick  over 
hyeh,"  he  said.  "  Ben's  a-gittin'  wuss  sence 
Isom  was  killed.  Yes,  I  recollect  Gabe  hyeh 
lost  a  canoe  jus'  atter  a  flood  more'n  a  year  ago, 
when  Rome  Stetson  'n'  Marthy  Lewallen  went 
a-gallivantin'  out'n  the  mountains  together. 
Hyeh's  another  flood,  'n'  old  Gabe's  dugout 
gone  agin."  The  miller  raised  a  covert  glance 
of  suspicion  from  under  his  hat,  but  the  Marcum 
was  laughing.  "  Ye  oughter  put  a  trace-chain 
on  this  un,"  he  added.  "  A  rope  gits  rotten  in 
the  water,  'n'  a  tide  is  mighty  apt  to  break  it." 

Old  Gabe  said  that  "  mebbe  that  wus  so,"  but 
he  had  no  chain  to  waste;  he  reckoned  a  rope 
was  strong  enough,  and  he  started  home. 

"  Old  Gabe  don't  seem  to  keer  much  now 
'bout  Isom,"  said  the  Brayton.  "  Folks  say  he 
tuk  on  so  awful  at  fust  that  hit  looked  like  he 
wus  goin'  crazy.  He's  gittin'  downright  peert 
again.  Hello!" 

Bud  Vickers  was  carrying  a  piece  of  news 

down  to  Hazlan,  and  he  pulled  up  his  horse  to 

deliver  it.     Aunt  Sally  Day's  dog  had  been  seen 

playing  in  the  Breathitt  road  with  the  frame  of  a 

277 


THE    LAST    STETSON 

human  foot.  Some  boys  had  found  not  far 
away,  behind  a  withered  "  blind,"  a  heap  of  rags 
and  bones.  Eli  Crump  had  not  been  seen  in 
Hazlan  since  the  night  of  the  Marcum  raid. 

"  Well,  ef  hit  was  Eli,"  said  the  Brayton, 
waggishly,  "  we're  all  goin'  to  be  saved.  Eli's 
case  '11  come  fust,  an'  ef  thar's  only  one  Jedg- 
ment  Day,  the  Lord  '11  nuver  git  to  us." 

The  three  chuckled,  while  old  Gabe  sat  dream- 
ing at  his  gate.  The  boy  had  lain  quiet  during 
the  weeks  of  his  getting  well,  absorbed  in  one 
aim — to  keep  hidden  until  he  was  strong  enough 
to  get  to  Rome.  On  the  last  night  the  miller 
had  raised  one  of  the  old  hearth-stones  and  had 
given  him  the  hire  of  many  years.  At  daybreak 
the  lad  drifted  away.  Now  old  Gabe  was  fol- 
lowing him  down  the  river  and  on  to  the  dim 
mountain  line,  where  the  boy's  figure  was  plain 
for  a  moment  against  the  sky,  and  then  was  lost. 

The  clouds  in  the  west  had  turned  gray  and 
the  crescent  had  broken  the  gloom  of  the  woods 
into  shadows  when  the  miller  rose.  One  star 
was  coming  over  Black  Mountain  from  the  east. 
It  was  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  to  old  Gabe ;  and, 
starlike  on  both  sides  of  the  Cumberland,  an- 
swering fires  from  cabin  hearths  were  giving 
back  its  message  at  last. 

"  Thar  hain't  nothin'  to  hender  Rome  V 
Marthy  now.  I  nuver  knowed  anybody  to  stay 
278 


THE   LAST    STETSON 

'way  from  these  mountains  ef  he  could  git  back ; 
'n'  Isom  said  he'd  fetch  'em.  Thar  hain't  noth- 
in'  to  hender — nothin'  now." 

On  the  stoop  of  the  cabin  the  miller  turned  to 
look  again,  and  then  on  the  last  Stetson  the  door 
was  closed. 


THE    END 


279 


Pholu     by     Stefl 
FRANK  FEHR,   Director. 


H03^A.C^  A.TAYLOR 


—Photo    by    Sioffln 
*      CHAS.  H.  KEISKER,  Director. 


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W.  G.  GRAVES  FOR  MAYOR 

Honest,  Fearless  and  Aggressive.  His  Election  Means  an  Honest, 
Square  Deal   For  All. 


th  of  Groceries 

•n  Flour  by  the 
SATURDAY 

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Tools  and  every 
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Flower  Seeds,  Garden 
Seeds     Blue    Grass,   Lawn 
Grass,  White  Clover,  Onion  . 
Sets,  Cabbage   Plants,   To-  I 
Plants,     Greenhouse  I 
"ante,       Bedding     Plants, 
-ransies  and  Bulbs. 

I  have  thoroughly  tested  the 

-varieties  ofered  during  my 

long  experience  as  a  florist 

and  market  gardner. 

Storj  la  th.  Holman  Block    two 
doo:s  norm  Illinois  Garaw 

F.  W.  C  U  S  T  E  R 


PKorxe:  A\itomaL«c  216O 


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MILLINFR  Y 
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rully  blended  in  effect  as  now. 
so  at  Heenan's.     We  strive  to 
our  salespeople  take  an  individu 
customer  ;he  hat  becoming  to  h 
ers  at   He        -'«*  are  always   pi, 


muni  mi  111  ii  in 

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